


Transference

by 90saolchatroom



Category: The X-Files, The X-Files Origins, The X-Files: Fight the Future (1998), The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Melissa Scully Lives, Post-Episode: s10e06 My Struggle II, Romance, The X-Files Devil's Advocate, The X-Files Pilot, The X-Files Revival, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-25 22:52:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14388789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/90saolchatroom/pseuds/90saolchatroom
Summary: After the light seems poised to take Scully, and Mulder is on the brink of death, one event cancels it all out.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a post-MSII, alternate universe with spoilers for the entire series, movies, and (canon!) origin novels, particularly Scully's, which I started in 2016. You can file it under X, S, R, and AU, using old archive tags. It may move into mature or explicit. 
> 
> Originally, I began to post it at ff.net under Luna Laser Captain, but I am trying to stay consistent across fandom platforms. It has been a slow moving labor of love, but I am pleased with where it heading. If you have not read either of the origin novels, you should still be able to follow the story; however, you will be spoiled. Either way, I would definitely recommend reading Scully's. I feel it adds a lot to her character and backstory, even though, with every read, her character becomes more tragic.

**Prologue**

The sudden and blinding light, caught her completely off guard. Dana Scully knew she was fighting time in terms of finding Mulder and saving him from the Spartan Virus, that had him and everyone else but her in its grips, but she didn’t realize she would be fighting time in terms of this either. They had come only for her, one of the chosen ones, and she knew it. Her mind was transported to another bridge, in another time, trying to help someone she cared for, while chaos reigned, and unable to do anything. She had been spared there too, and now she felt she had a better understanding of why. However, in this case, why just her, and why not Mulder? He too had been exposed to alien viruses and DNA on more than one occasion, had he not? Things had been going so well between the two of them since rejoining the X-Files. She had even considered giving their relationship another go, but now, it was looking that their time together had finally run out, for good.

 

She felt her eyes moisten and a tear run down her cheek. Scully was not certain if it was from the tide of emotions that were washing over her, or the light that had frozen her in place, ready to pull her up into the ship. Whatever the cause, another salty droplet escaped her wide, sea-like eyes and rolled into her open mouth. 

 

_ God,  _ she thought, _ good thing Mom isn’t alive _ . 

 

It was the first time her mother’s death gave her some relief. How terrified she would have been. The fleeting thought and a cool, clammy hand grabbing her wrist, was enough to break the spell of the light, for enough of a moment to look down. It was Mulder’s weak grasp. He looked up at her, sweat-soaked and red-eyed, hanging on by a thread that would finally snap after years of pulling him back from the brink on too many times. She saw him open his mouth, looking like a struggling fish out of water. A cough sputtered out, and she could hear his weak voice.

 

“Scully, I am so sorry,” he struggled and sputtered against the words, tears in his eyes, matching her own, “I have alway lo…”

 

The lurch and rumble of the ground was a sudden interjection to his sentence, causing their physical connection to break. Panic set into through her body, and she thought that it was the ship, taking her away, but as the asphalt bridge continued to roll beneath her feet, another light seemed to illuminate in front of her, not only capturing her, but Mulder as well. At the same time the vibrations of the ground seemed the pulse through the air and reverberate through her body. A feeling she had recalled happening on a road in Nevada, with Mulder and a litter of men in black.

 

As the new light source and the rolling and electrified air around her intensified, she felt like she had become further removed from her body, watching the situation as an outsider, and not herself. Scully saw as Mulder grasped his head as if in pain, as the energy around them and through them surged, and then she felt it too. It was as if her brain was being infiltrated and someone or something was disassembling every neuron and pulling them out. Any of the remaining, cohesive thoughts she had of saving Mulder, finding William, her mother, and the vaccine, that had dominated her thoughts we suddenly plucked out of sight. The only thing she could recognize now was the humming pain in her skull, the shaking world around her, and somebody shouting. It was not hers or Mulder’s, or any voice she recognized; however, she could no longer be certain, as her memories had scattered and ceased. What she did understand was what the voice shouted one last time before the shaking disappeared and the world went black. 

 

_ I will find you on the other side. _ _ _


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

9:12 PM

 

The flashes of light that had blinded Fox Mulder, and filled his head with an incomprehensible pain, was gone, and now he was sitting in a car, somewhere, in the dark. While his brain felt like a dismal jumble of memories old and new, fighting for their places among his gray matter, which was probably contributing to the dull throb that still existed, his body felt different. It felt better. Better than how he recalled it feeling before the light, maybe even before that. Even though his thought weren’t clear or settled, he knew that in the moments before the flashing light and pulsing atmosphere, he was on the cusp of death. Had he died? He wasn’t too sure, but everything felt too real, so he didn’t ponder the question any further.

 

He struggled to adjust to the darkness, and he noticed a presence beside him in the passenger seat. Slowly, his eyes swept over to the figure next to him. He took stock of his surroundings with his profiler’s eye, noting the interior of the older car and the rain pounding against the windshield, making it hard to see what was outside, but sensing that they were on a remote and empty road. Something about the scene, felt like a familiar memory that was trying to surface to his mind’s forefront. As he touched the shoulder of the person next to him, he saw the blurry, pained face from the reflection in the passenger window turn to face him, still unclear in the dark, but he still knew who it was.

 

Scully.

 

Suddenly the whirring blender of thoughts started to settle allowing more confusion to intrude. He remembered that before the light he was in another car, on a bridge, and that it was not raining. Scully was near him, but not in the car. She had been frantic and concerned over the state he was in, which had been abysmal, in what felt like only moments ago now. He knitted his brows and peered at her through the dark, he thought about turning on the dome light, but somehow knew that they would not work. As he slowly tried to make out her features and state, she groaned and as she unclenched her eyes, reached for him with frantic arms, cool hands cupping his face.

 

“Mulder, are you ok? We need to get you to Will…” 

 

Her voice quickly fell off, which Mulder noted sounded different. It was slightly lighter and higher, a difference barely discernible to most, but not to him. The many variations of her voice were etched into his soul for an eternity, and it was that voice, that made Mulder realize where he was, and when he was. His eyes focused, and he saw a face he remembered from another place and another time. It was a Scully’s face, but not the one he saw before the light. This Scully, with her auburn hair, wild from the humidity, and her face rounded by youth, was the one from their first case together. 

 

The confusion and concern in her face surely mirrored his own, but he wasn’t sure if she had reached the same conclusion, or if she was in the same state of affairs. It felt like it, but he still was not certain if all this was real, or a dream, or some sort of afterlife experience. Though, as he saw the confusion morph back into panic, he quickly decided to respond as if the situation he found himself in was real. He grabbed at her hands that were still on his face and lowered them down keeping them in his grasp. She seemed as if she was staring through him in shock now.

 

“Scully,” he rubbed her hands gently with his own, bringing her focus to his eyes briefly,  “What is the last thing you remember?”

 

Her lips pursed, and her gaze then fell to the rain beating on the window.

 

After a beat, a hesitant reply came, “The bridge.”

 

“What bridge?” He urged gently.

 

Scully pulled her hand out of his and rubbed at her forehead. She didn’t seems to be recovering as quickly from the event as he was, and it was clear she had yet to reach the same conclusion he had.

 

“Agent Miller had you, Mulder. You needed more than the vaccine. You were so sick. I can’t lose you. All those people...” It all tumbled out in a stream of random statements as she stared through her surrounding and back at him. Then he saw her face shift, her jaw slack, and her eyes go wide as a realization set in, “Mulder, look at you.” 

 

Her voice almost seemed horrified, and he didn’t want to scare her anymore than she was. He gently tried to lighten the mood, in the only way he knew how.  “I know. Though, before you start pointing fingers, you should look at yourself too,” He replied giving her a smirk he hoped she’d find reassuring, or at least annoying, but not terrifying.

 

She pulled in a quick gasp, eyes going wide as she clamoured to pull down the passenger visor and look into the mirror. 

 

“There’s no power. No light,” he said dryly.

 

She pulled at her face trying to make out the features in the dark before slamming up the visor and throwing a look his way. “What the hell is going on, Mulder?”

 

The distress and confusion had now been replaced by annoyance and confusion. Not exactly the outcome he was hoping for, but he would take it. He always hated seeing Scully torn up by fear and sadness on his account. However, this response was brought another smile to his face and he felt his own nerves calm some more. Mulder always liked a fired up Scully.

 

He realized he left her hanging for a moment too long, and struggled to regain ground, “I-I am not sure, but I think I know where we are. When we are.” 

 

“When we are? Mulder, last I checked, it was 2016, and the world was falling apart at the seams. You were dying. I saw you! What happened?! What did they do to us?! Where the hell are we?” She threw her body back into the seat, exasperated and searching his face for answers.

 

“Scully, I don’t think it was them. I don’t know what it was, and I don’t think that we are in 2016.”

 

She blew a deep breath out, and covered her face with her hands, “When do you think we are then, Mulder, and how did we get here? There. Whatever.” The gesture of exasperation was one he recognized well. She would be a hard sell. 

 

“Oregon. 1992.”

 

Her hands dropped, and she turned to him. He couldn’t see clearly, but he assumed that her eyebrow was just about to her hairline.

 

“Mulder…”

 

She said had said his name in a tone that was reserved for when she thought he had completely lost it, and in that moment he did. However, it was not his mind, though he wasn’t sure if it was his aching brain bombarded with thoughts trying to reassemble themselves was in the right state entirely, but his patience for her playing skeptic, in this particular circumstance. Now he was the one that blew out an exasperated breath and gripped the steering wheel, before grabbing the car door handle and projecting his lanky frame out into the downpour. He went around to the back of the old sedan they had both been sitting in, looking down at the pavement through wet, moppy hair. Scully had followed him out, standing opposite of him, looking tinier than usual in the oversized coat she was wearing, which was now rain-soaked.

 

He pointed to the ground in front of them, where a large, letter “X” had been sprayed onto the pavement, “Look, Scully.”

 

“Yes, I see, Mulder, but someone could have placed us and this here.”

 

He threw up his hands, “Oh, and made us look twenty some years younger too. Not only did they take the time to cure me, move both of us, but they took the time to use us as guinea pigs for the latest anti-aging treatment. That was very considerate of them. Come on, Scully, we look like we just made it past puberty.”

 

“Speak for yourself. I think I just heard your voice crack, Mulder,” she quipped coyly, in a way that made him realize she sensed his frustration with her and was trying diffuse it some.

 

He placed his hands on her shoulders, which he noted were trembling, and that she had attempted to stop them from doing so once he touched her. Water dripped off her aquiline nose, forming perfect globes before they were plucked away by their own weight and gravity. He looked into her eyes pleadingly.

 

“Look around, Scully. How does none of this feel familiar to you? Tell me that in this moment, right now, details of our first case together, are not fresher or more familiar that they have been since we worked it. This goes beyond where we are. What we look like. Shit, what we are wearing,” Mulder paused and tapped at his head, “It’s like there are two of me inside of here. Your Mulder from 2016 and that nutcase you got saddled with in 1992. I think somehow, our conscious has been moved back in time or something else. Please tell me it’s not just me losing my mind, Scully.”

 

Mulder felt her grab his wrist and lower his arm, while she pulled away from his gaze. Her response delayed as she seemed to be taking in the scene around them through precipitation, her breath surrounding her like a halo, glowing when a soft bout of lightning attempted to break the clouds in the distance. He watched her scratch her head, pull at her ponytail, and frown.

 

He recalled something he had once said, either a long time ago or just yesterday, “I’m not crazy, Scully. I have all the same doubts you do.”

 

The shift in her gaze was quick and telling. He could tell that the phrase had struck the chord he was going for, and he knew he wasn’t alone with what he was thinking and feeling. 

 

“We lost nine minutes,” she said quietly, matter-of factly.

 

He looked at the watch that was on his wrist. He hadn’t worn this watch in years. It read just after quarter past nine.

 

“Yeah, or something like that.”

 

With that a they were cast in a dim, red light as the engine of the car rumbled back to life. Scully seemed startled, and he could not help but crack a smile at her response. She shot him a look.

 

“Come on,” he said as he headed to the driver’s side door.

 

“Where are we going?” Scully shouted to him as she scrambled for the passenger door.

 

“To make sure I am actually not crazy!”

 

With that he ducked into the car, and once Scully was at his place beside him, he started back on the slick road ahead through the rhythmic swish of the wipers.

 


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two  
Bellefleur, Oregon  
March 7, 1992

Scully was not at all surprised that Mulder’s plan to prove he was not crazy, was merely driving to the standard, mid-century built motel they had stayed in on their first case. Admittedly, he was right about being in Oregon. The town’s sign cheerfully greeting, “Welcome to Bellefleur,” was as she had remembered it from some point in time, that she could not quite pinpoint, and the Pacific Ocean slowly churned to west of the main highway that cut into town. 

The drive consisted of the two of them debating what could have happened that put them in this state. Mulder continued to be insistent that they had experienced some sort of time travel, while she tried to put forward some other theories: perhaps they had been drugged; or were in some sort virtual reality; or they had fallen prey to that underground fungus again. The latter, caused Mulder to look at her wide-eyed long enough to swerve off the road momentarily, which she figured it would. It was a crazier idea than time travel, after all.

Her last theory was that they had both finally met their ends, and that Hell was sporting ill-fitting, polyester suits and bad haircuts for eternity.

“This head of hair,” Mulder said as he pulled the car into a parking spot in front of the dingy motel, “was always amazing and will always be amazing. However, the wardrobe is pretty good evidence to support your Hell theory, Scully.”

She thought she saw him shudder, before pointing at the two doors in front of them.

“Look familiar?” 

She was pretty sure he wasn’t interested in a response to the question and was busy digging in the pockets of his damp parka.

“Ta-da!” He said brandishing a motel key, with a small, numbered key ring attached, and a smart-ass grin on his face. “I bet you a backrub that you’ve got its mate.”

For some reason she felt herself automatically go to her right coat pocket and unzip it. Sure enough, stuck to the rain soaked lining was the same brassy, motel key, with a different number. A number of questions flooded her brain again. Why was there a key to this motel in her coat pocket, and how had she known exactly where to find it? 

She quickly shook off the questions as irrelevant and looked at Mulder. “Now what? And by the way, Mulder. I am not sure this entirely proves your theory.”

“Well, I am going into my room to get ready for that backrub, Scully. If you come in your robe and underwear again, I won’t turn you away.”

She punched him playfully in the shoulder, and he feigned hurt. 

“Meet me in my room in fifteen minutes?” He asked her as he grabbed the door handle.

She shrugged and opened her own door, quickly running under the waterfall formed at the awning of the building to the door that matched the key’s number. She plunged the key in, turned, and the cheap metal door briefly stuck and before giving way.

Scully eyed up the room before her. The memory of how she had left this particular motel room was unsettlingly fresh in her head: the clunky laptop on top of the nightstand; the neat pile of old polaroids and crime scene photos; the obvious lack of cell phone, anywhere. And aside from the memories of the this room, there were also many other things from this particular time in her life, that had surfaced too. It was like her mind were two photographs merging into one. The picture of 2016 Scully overlaid onto the picture of the 1992 Scully. It was an unnerving feeling, and a sudden urge to get back to Mulder quickly overcame her. Their banter seemed to make the dull pain in her head and overwhelming confusion of the situation much more palatable.

As she began to peel off the wet layers, props of an earlier time in her life made themselves all the more present. First, there was her holster, with the Bernadelli pistol she had once carried, years ago. Then, in one back pocket, there was a worn, department store wallet, containing dated bills, cards, and a Maryland driver’s license featuring a rather unflattering photo from the late 80s. And after digging through the other slick pocket of her jacket, her very first FBI badge, slightly less unflattering, but embarrassing, nonetheless. Seeing these past images of herself, made her realize she was yet to get a good look at her face in person, in the light. In damp, cotton underwear, she ran into the bathroom, and hit the switch, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the yellow light. 

In the dark mirrors in the car she had not been able to get a very clear look at herself, or of Mulder for that matter, but she knew that they looked much younger. Now, as she touched her own face she saw just how much younger. Had they really ever been this young? This was not the face of the strong, elegant woman who had endured twenty some years of the joys and hardships of life, but that of a woman that was still fresh-faced and green, a blank canvas. The only way telling sign of what lie beneath seemed to be in her eyes. He body showed no battle scars from carrying a child or giving birth and no faded scars from surgery, injury, or illness, just two mosquito bites on her lower back. She sighed internally, realizing how right Mulder’s theory just might be.

The thought of Mulder caused her to steal a quick glance at the clock, remembering that she wanted to get over to him before the power cut out. The white terry-cloth bathrobe, hanging on the bathroom hook, caught her eye in mirror. She considered slipping it on for a brief moment, but the circumstances between the two of them were different this time around. It would only be a tease. Quickly she rifled through her suitcase, settling for a fresh flannel and khakis.

\--

She quietly knocked on Mulder’s door, looking cautiously from right to left. Mulder’s rhythmic gait could be heard approaching the door. His once over of her and subsequent disappointment at her wardrobe choice was completely obvious on his face. 

“You take the fun out of everything Scully,” he said as he stepped aside to let her in, “We get a chance to relive one of my top ten fantasies, and you go and ruin it. What a waste.”

She smiled and rolled her eyes, as she sat heavily on his bed. Recalling a moment in their time together as a couple where he shared a scenario with her in which more came off, than just her bathrobe, when she came to his room this very night. 

“I think you will live, Mulder.”

“That’s what you think.” 

He had shut the door and had retrieved something small and electronic from his nightstand. Bouncing onto the bed next to her, he opened her hand to reveal the device.

“Lookie what I found. Someone is quite the busy body.” In his hand was a typical bugging device, both of them had found in both their apartments, among other places, during their time on the X-Files.

She picked it up out his hand examining it closely for a mere moment before handing it back to him. “I am not surprised. I think we both know, based on what happened to most of our evidence and files from this case, that someone was watching us. Is watching us. Listening in. Any others?”

“Well, hopefully not anymore. My sweep was pretty quick, but I went through all their usual hiding spots.” He gestured around the room, which Scully could see was in a bit of a disarray. The outlet covers had all been pulled off, and the glass globe that covered the light over his bed, was sitting on the table by the window.

“Either way, we should probably keep on the quiet side,” she suggested and immediately regretted her wording. The wheels in Mulder’s head were clearly spinning, and she shot him a look that she knew he knew was a warning to not even go to wherever he was planning on going.

He sighed and pouted, before responding, “So, what do you think, Scully?”

She knew he was baiting her, to see if she had any new ideas about what was going on. There was the part of her that wanted to explain away his time travel theory, pull it apart, find another explanation, but she knew the fight was futile and silly. Too much had happened to them over the last twenty-four years for her to discount what was painfully obvious to her. The only thing she could think to do at the this point was bury her face in her hands and fall back onto the bed so her entire body, with the exception of her legs swinging over the edge, was sprawled across the motel bed. The mattress groaned with her as she hit it, and she could smell the bleached sheets through the thin comforter.

“I think you are right,” she mumbled through her hands.

She felt the mattress springs shift and squeak. Now only her hands were separating Mulder’s face from hers. She felt his warm hands go around her own and try to pry them away from her face.

“I am sorry, Scully. What was that?”

She moved her hands away and propped herself up with her elbow, to give herself some space. The painting on the wall, above the television seemed like a wonderful place to look. “I think you might be right, Mulder. Somehow, we are mentally, somewhere else in time.”

It was not a full admission of time travel, she thought, but close enough. Her gaze shifted down, and he was gazing up at her, beaming. 

“I am not going to gloat too much about this moment Scully, and it doesn’t fully make up for the lack of bathrobe. However, it does help a lot. Thanks for that,” he smiled.

Scully let her gaze drift off again. “I can’t explain it, Mulder. It’s like, the majority of my feelings, thoughts, emotions, and memories are mine from just yesterday...the other yesterday, but in the background there are all these things from this time that I am remembering. Things I haven’t given a thought to in years, probably forgotten. I mean, they are not dominating, my thoughts and feelings, but they are there, along with all of this.” She motioned around the room before resting her hand on her head and running it through her wild hair.

His only response was a slight nod and grunt, which she took as he understood what she was saying and was, probably, feeling the same. A beat later, another thought, a memory, passed through her head, not from this time or their future, but from another moment, in another motel room in Bellefleur, before Mulder was taken, and she found out she was pregnant. She gasped and could suddenly feel tears prickle at her eyes. She refocused on Mulder.

“William.” His name escaped her lips as whisper, and her vision started to cloud.

If Mulder’s face shifted to concern or sympathy she couldn’t tell, the dim lamp from the nightstand cut out with the power and tears she couldn’t control took over her eyes, but she could feel his hand rubbing her shoulder. Then pulling him down next to him, pressing her against his chest.

“I know. I know,” he murmured into her hair in empathy, “But think about this, you have your mother back. Your father. Your sister.”

“But not yours,” she replied, wiping the last of the escaped tears from her cheeks, blinking any other threatening to escape.

“Yeah.” His response was hollow.

“What are we going to do, Mulder?”

“Well,” he paused before continuing, “I think we have a case we have to attend to first, and then we figure out what’s going on.”

Scully felt herself nod in agreement and continued to lie in silence against Mulder, closing her eyes. The familiar feeling of sleep began to stake its claim, and she let it. Eventually, she heard a ring in the distance and was pulled out of its grips. Slowly she sat up and made out Mulder’s form, telephone cradled between his shoulder and ear. She knew immediately the nature of the call and felt a sudden shift in her to investigator mode. 

Before Mulder could even say anything, Scully was up and heading to the door. She didn’t wait for him to tell her. 

“Peggy O’Dell is dead,” she said to him. 

He nodded as he placed the phone back down and stood up. She thought he looked dazed.

“Let’s go finish our first X-File then, Mulder.”

With that, she pulled open the door and stepped into the stormy night, not waiting to see if he was behind her. She just wanted to get this hurdle out of her way first, and then get answers for themselves.  
\--


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

 

Bellefleur, Oregon

March 8, 1992

1:46 AM

 

Mulder followed Scully into her room at the new motel they had booked rooms at after the other had been set afire, destroying all of their files and evidence, just as it had the first time. The motel had been the same as the one they stayed at when they returned to Oregon. Compared to the first motel, it was a step up clearly catering to the tourist clientele of the area, with its rustic, woodsy theme. The rough-hewn, cedar bed, draped with a thick, flannel blanket, called to him.

 

He saw that Scully noticed him eyeing up the bed. “Go ahead, Mulder. I know you are going to do it anyway.”

 

He smiled and flopped down. They were both dirty, tired, and wet from their last foray into the misty, woods of the northwest. Scully had gone into the bathroom, and he could hear the steady stream of the sink.

 

“So, what are you thinking, Scully?” He shouted.

 

The only response was her hand appearing outside the bathroom door giving him the universal, “give me a minute” signal.

 

They had attacked the rest of the case with Billy Miles as they had originally, the best that they both could remember. The only divergence coming in moments alone together, where they worked into agreements about what their next moves would be. Since they weren’t certain what had happened them and if any of their enemies had cause this, they both felt it was best to not to diverge from what had happened on the case the first time, as not to disrupt anything or tip off anyone that may be watching that something was amiss. With that, they had little time to really work through their thoughts and feelings regarding their present situation and discuss next steps.

 

Mulder let his eyes close for a moment and toed off his boots. A few minutes later he heard the soft patter of her footsteps. When he opened her eyes she was curled up in the worn, tweed recliner, opposite of the bed.

 

“I just am getting this feeling that this situation is permanent,” she said with a sigh, “and honestly, I am not sure how I feel about what’s next. I don’t think I can do what we just did until either this reverses itself, Mulder, or until we catch up to where we left off.”

 

As Mulder mulled over her response, he could not help but stare at her. She could easily pass for a teenager. Her longer, darker hair was pulled back into a haphazard bun, tiny curls framing her bare face, which sported the same smattering of freckles that she always hid with a careful application of makeup. She wore an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, that had been purchased at a local store after the fire. 

 

She seemed to notice him staring, and his lack of response. “What?” 

 

“Just admiring the sights, Scully.”

 

He thought he saw a tinge of pink on her cheeks before annoyance took over her face. “That’s not helpful, Mulder.”

 

He knew she was right. They had yet to really discuss things, and there was a lot to discuss. While Scully had shared some of her own mental experience and feelings thus far, and he had not really shared or dwelled on his own. And neither had discussed the potential cause of their predicament since she had half-heartedly agreed with him on time travel.

 

Mulder recovered, “Is there anything else you remember, Scully? From the bridge that is. I think that’s probably our best place to start. Then work backward,” he paused and caught her face, “No pun intended.”

 

He saw her face twist into one he was very familiar with. She rubbed her head, “I was trying to find you and Agent Miller on the bridge. Einstein and I were able to work up a vaccine, but by the time I got to you, Mulder, you were so far gone. Then, there was a ship above us and a light came down on me.”

 

“From the ship?”

 

She nodded.

 

“Maybe it was something with the ship, Scully.” They had seen their fair share of the amazing capabilities alien technology, controlled by man or not, was capable of. He wouldn’t be surprised if it the ship was capable of time travel. However, when he further studied her face, he could see there was something else.

 

“No,” she hesitated, “There was something else, Mulder, after the ship. I think there was another light and some sort energy.”

 

“Another ship? Help me out, Scully, I barely remember a thing.” Which was true, after he had turned down the Smoking Man’s offer, everything was fractured.

 

He watched her bite her lip, “It wasn’t from a ship. First, there was this sort of pulsing in the air, and then another light coming from somewhere on the bridge. And there was a figure.”

 

“Alien?”

 

“Do you still believe in aliens anymore, Mulder? I can’t keep track,” she cracked, “but no, I don’t think it was an alien. It sounded like a person. A woman maybe.”

 

“A woman’s voice...that’s...strange. Maybe it was God, Scully,” he replied flippantly. Faster than he could react, she had pulled a throw pillow from behind her and tossed it in his face.

 

“You are not funny.”

 

“Recognize it?”

 

Her response was a frown. “By then, I was surprised I even knew who I was, Mulder. As all that light and energy got brighter, it was like everything in my brain was being disconnected. You looked like you were in much the same state, and based on this,” she motioned at him, “I assume I am right.” Her face then turned more serious, concerned. “How are you feeling, Mulder? You haven’t said much, and I worry about what this did to you Mulder.”

 

He knew she meant in regards to his mental health and depression. Based on what she had said about her own mental state, and at the beginning of their conversation this evening, he figured that she was having a harder time coping with this situation and what was to come. He too, felt like there was a merging of two selves inside of his head, but there was also a feeling of relief that he hadn’t felt in a long time. They had time and, for once, maybe the upper hand with things. 

 

Mulder pulled himself from the bed and made his way over to her, kneeling and taking fidgeting hands in his own. Although, she looked like the newly minted agent of his past, what lie behind her eyes told a different story. She was the Scully who had fought monsters, both of man and myth, alongside him for a large part of both of their lives, as they remembered it. A woman who he had created another life with, a home, and many moments he cherished, both good and bad. He didn’t want her to be worrying about his state of mind. She had done that enough for one lifetime.

 

“Scully, what you have described feeling or thinking with this event, I have experienced, but I don’t know, I also have this sense of relief or peace that I have not remembered feeling for a long time,” he squeezed her hand harder in reassurance, “Maybe because I know more about the bigger picture now. Maybe now I can do things right. Maybe now...I won’t lose you.”

 

She gave him a sad smile, “Mulder, you never lost me. I just needed some space. We needed space.”

 

Mulder could tell she had more to say, as did he, but there was a slight knock on the door. It was barely audible, to the point that he had thrown the same look to her, as if to say, “ _ Did you hear that?”  _ When she nodded, they both go quite still.

 

“Were you expecting someone?” He whispered.

 

“No,” he watched as her eyes grew wide with concern, “and nobody ever showed up at my room this time of the night, Mulder.”

 

For a moment, he internally chastised himself for not combing the room for bugs when they came in. He feared someone had overheard their conversation, and their interest had been piqued. Scully had already pulled her sidearm and was cautiously approaching the door, and he and now followed her lead. They flanked the door, guns raised, before Mulder leaned over to check the peephole. When he saw nobody, he returned to his place opposite of her, and then motioned that he was going to open the door. As he did they both pulled their weapons in front of them. He could swear his heart had now situated itself between his ears. 

 

Mulder stepped out into the doorway first, shielding Scully’s body with his own. He scanned the area in front of him. There was no one. The open, motel breezeway was empty, and he saw no trace of any other guests having just been out. The small, grassy  courtyard, that was lit with one dim light post, gave no hint to anyone else around, and if they were, they had already retreated in the distant woods.

 

He could now feel Scully next to him and looked over to see had lowered her gun and was beginning to squat in doorway, attempting to push him aside as she did.

 

“Move off the doormat, Mulder.”

 

He obliged, and she picked up the dense, tan mat, where a small, manila envelope had been placed beneath. If wet from the pavement and crinkled from the weight of his foot. Scully took it inside, and he followed her, shutting the door quietly. 

 

“I know this seems paranoid,” she said as she set down the envelope rifled through her bag, “but I am putting on gloves for this.”

 

“I am not sure you have to worry about coming across as overly paranoid when you are around me, Scully,” he joked, earning him an honest grin in response.

 

She carefully opened the envelope and pulled out a sheet of folded, white paper. Once she examined everything carefully, and deemed it safe, she unfolded the paper. Mulder looked over her shoulder and in the middle of the paper, in typewriter print, were the following numbers: 4664254190148561.

 

Scully was now looking up at him, eyes swimming with bewilderment. “I don’t remember ever seeing this before, Mulder.”

 

“Well then, it looks like someone knows more than we do, Scully, because I haven’t either.”

\--


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

 

Dulles International Airport

Luggage Claim

March 10, 1992

7:51 PM

 

Scully had spent the remainder of the previous night with Mulder trying to figure out what the numbers could mean, which both realized proved rather difficult to do given no access to the instantaneous and widely informative internet of their previous time. It was probably more secure this way, but she hadn’t realized how much she had relied on just typing in anything she did not know into a search engine that would return results in a fraction of a second. They had to do things the old fashioned way and use their brains, which proved fruitless, exhausting, and frustrating, given their overall lack of sleep.

 

First, they had attempted a variety of number to letter codes, but came up with only random streams of letters, mainly consonants, that seemed to make no distinguishable words or phrases in any language either of them knew. Then, they tried to come up with a series of possible phone numbers from the digits listed. Scully watched as Mulder stopped at several phone booths on their way to the airport, wasting untold amounts of change, on phone calls to disconnected numbers, confused elderly, or a number of angry people mistaking him as a prank caller, or worse, a telemarketer. Now, they began to wonder if the numbers were perhaps linked to an account number for a credit card or bank. They could certainly work out that way, which was why Scully was now waiting for Mulder to finish a making a brief call to the Lone Gunmen somewhere upstairs in the arrivals terminal, to let them know he was on his way over.

 

She knew he was probably making no mention of her because, well, they didn’t know her yet in this time, and hopefully her unexpected arrival with him wouldn’t ruffle their feathers too much. Either way, she didn’t care. It would just be nice to see the three of them again, even if they had no recollection or knowledge of her and the memories she had of the three of them. Scully had mourned their loss over the last fourteen years, just as much as Mulder had. Their friendship, loyalty, and skills had been invaluable to them, and it had been difficult when they had been on the run together, without their help.

 

As she let herself get lost in a daydream about how they would receive her this time around, she felt a hand on her shoulder and unintentionally startled, before turning to see Mulder pass a slight smirk down at her. He looked as tired as she felt. She stood up, grabbing what little luggage she had managed to get back after the motel fire, and gave him a look that she knew read,  _ “What’s going on?” _ Neither was still overly sure how close anyone had watched them during the course of this case, so they were still keeping their verbal exchanges about anything other than the Billy Miles’ case, in areas where there could be eyes or ears, to a minimum.

 

“I am going back to my place to shower and unpack, then thinking of meeting some friends for a night of poker at ten. Need to decompress, “ he said as they started out the automatic doors into the cool, March night. 

 

It was reasonably quiet outside of the airport that evening, save for a few other people getting picked up and dropped off around them and one charter bus slowly making it through the area. Nobody seemed to be paying them much attention.

 

“Sounds good, Mulder. I think I am going to go home and hit the hay myself. It was nice working with you,” she said extending her hand out to shake his, “I will see you at the office.” 

 

As their hands connected in show, she gave him a wink. Then grabbed her bag and headed to her car. She’d see him again at the Lone Gunmen’s in two hours. That gave her just enough time to maybe squeeze in a decent shower. The idea of a bath sounded better, but despite certain events not having happened in this time yet, it was something she preferred not to do in her old apartment. Memories of a man, who could have easily been the devil himself, tying her up and running her tub surfaced and sent chills up her spine. Even if they couldn’t figure out what was going on or reverse whatever had happened, that was one event to possibly come, that she would prefer not to have live through again. Actually, that was one of many.

\--

 

Lone Gunmen Headquarters

9:56 PM

 

The temperature had dropped significantly, as it often did during March nights, and Scully regretted not wearing more than her bedraggled, University of Maryland sweatshirt as she crossed the street toward the alley where the Gunmen’s entrance was. Tugging on the string of the hood over her head, she took one more look around before making her way over to the tall, dark figure by their door.

 

“Hey, you made it for the party,” Mulder cracked once he realized it was her, “Did it look like anyone followed you?”

 

She shook her head. If anyone had been, they had certainly lost interest. The streets on her way over had been dead.

 

“Weird going home?” He said without looking at her, buzzing the intercom outside their door.

 

“I don’t know if weird even begins to describe it, Mulder,” she said huddling closer to him. It was damn cold.

 

“I know exactly what you mean, Scully. It was good to see my fish though,” he managed before a familiar voice came over the intercom and the security camera overhead seemed perfectly poised on them.

 

“What do you want?” Crowed the voice of Melvin Frohike. Scully beamed up at Mulder. It was going to take a lot more self-control than she had thought not to hug the three of them, especially him.

 

“It’s Big Foot. Open up.” Mulder replied. She could see him shaking his head in amusement. She was pretty sure he was feeling the same way.

 

“Who’s the chick?” Another voice replied in the background. Langly.

 

“My new partner. It’s fine. Now open up, we are freezing our asses off out here.”

 

Scully stood quietly next to Mulder as she heard a series of locks being undone. Slowly, the heavy metal door opened exposing the drab entryway, and there, in the dim cast of a simple, incandescent bulb stood the younger, but still leery and odd trio of John Byers, Richard Langly, and Melvin Frohike.

 

Scully tried to fight the smile floating just beneath her face, as she and Mulder pushed their way into the dingy lair. The door behind them closed, and she could hear the locks being returned to their rightful places. Mulder clapped Byers’ on the shoulder, a little harder than he probably had intended, as he went to a nearby chair and plopped down, gesturing for her to come by him. Scully perched on the faded plaid arm, watching as the three Gunmen eyed her up, then looked to Mulder, and then back at her. She and Mulder hadn’t discussed what they were going to do when they got here. There had not been much time or place that lent itself to doing so. Therefore, she had no idea how much of their situation Mulder was planning on sharing with the Gunmen, if any. She assumed that at the very least they would ask for their help in figuring out the mystery numbers, but anything else beyond that, was her best guess. Right now, she was just along for the ride, following his cues. Before anymore ogling of her could continue, Mulder cleared his throat.

 

“Boys, before I make introductions and get down to business, you might want to get comfortable. We’ve got quite a story to tell,” Mulder looked at her, eyes speaking volumes. If his eyes were any indication, it looked like they were going all in.

\--


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

 

Lone Gunmen Headquarters

March 11, 1992

12:51 AM

 

Mulder had taken the lead in the beginning of their tale, but Scully quickly joined in, sharing her side of the story as well. They spared no details: the Syndicate and their long-running conspiracies; Scully’s abductions and cancer; Emily; the Smoking Man and Mulder’s connection to him; Mulder’s abduction, death, and resurrection; William; Mulder’s time on the run. Mulder felt like his head was swimming from everything, and that was only the first ten years. 

 

The only stumbling point came when discussing the demise of his three amigos. Mulder had hesitated at first and looked to Scully for guidance. He had not been there when it had happened and didn’t know if sharing news of their future death, was something he had the right to do. Before either could move the conversation forward it was Byers that cut their silence, realizing that something was amiss. 

 

“It’s okay, we want to know everything. Even if doesn’t turn out well for us. I think I would like to know,” his voice was gentle and reassuring, and he looked to Frohike and Langly who nodded back in agreement.

 

Mulder nodded gravely, and listened as Scully took over explaining their last brave acts against a bioterrorist. They all seemed reasonably pleased to hear that they were given a hero's’ burial for their sacrifice, and then had some unique theories as why Mulder saw them after their death. Langly even suggested that perhaps they hadn’t died and gone into hiding to protect their friends, working in secret beneath the Arlington National Cemetery. Mulder watched as Scully arched her eyebrow at that idea, while Byers face twisted into thoughtful bemusement, and Frohike swatted Langly upside his stringy, blonde head.

 

“You are an idiot. Be serious here,” he scolded.

 

“OW! I am being serious!” Langly whined back with nasally inflection.

 

As Mulder wound the story up to the last point he and Scully remembered before being transferred back in time, he finally shared more about his visit with Cigarette Smoking Man. Scully didn’t mention much on her end, but she did give me a serious look that suggested they really needed to talk about his adventure. He knew that they desperately needed some time alone to discuss things, and he could sense that she was not happy about the events that had transpired. He imagined she was probably more upset over not knowing where he was or what had happened to him, than even the virus itself.

 

_ That’s my Scully _ , he thought.

 

When all was said and done, Byers looked a mix of melancholy and tentative fear; Langly looked like his brain was ready to implode; and Frohike had somehow ended up leaning into Scully, looking like a sad, puppy dog. This had Mulder internally chuckling because, when the conversation began, he accused her of brainwashing Mulder, but he knew Scully would be able to work her charm over on him.  The room was silent, as everyone sat exhausted in their own thoughts. If they had been outdoors, Mulder was pretty certain they would hearing crickets. However, the idea of the Lone Gunmen in the outdoors, was certainly crazier than he and Scully time traveling. The three of them probably barely made it outside to see the sun, much less experience any other part of nature. 

 

Langly was the first to break the silence. He had been sitting with his chin propped in his hands, elbows on knees, staring off into space. Flopping back onto the couch, he let out a breath so massive, Mulder wondered if he had breathed at all in the last few hours. “This is some heavy stuff, man.”

 

“Heavy, indeed,” repeated Frohike, as leaned over and gave Scully a sympathetic pat on the knee, “Whatever we can do to help, we are your guys. Those bastards are going down.” 

 

At one point in time, had Frohike done that, Scully would have at least shot him a look to kill, but now Mulder watched as Scully covered his hand with hers and gave it a squeeze. “Thanks, Frohike.” 

 

Frohike blushed, and Mulder felt himself smile at the entire exchange.

 

“Do you think we can stop all of that? Change things this time?” Interrupted Byers’ voice. 

 

Mulder knew what the intent behind that question was this time. He could not blame him. There were lots of things he wanted to change himself, and he had rolled the questions over in his head. He had thought about them frequently, and he knew Scully did too. If there was a reason this had happened to them, surely it was that.

 

“Maybe. Obviously things are already different,” he started in reply, “We never came to you like this in the past after our first case. You wouldn’t have met Scully until several months from now. And nobody ever gave Scully and I anything like this, that we can remember.”

 

Mulder handed the envelope containing the numbered paper to Byers, who opened it carefully. An eager and inquisitive look fell over his face, and Langly and Frohike leaned in to get a better look. Mulder was surprised Frohike left his perch near Scully. If she was relieved that he was out of her personal space, she hid it.

 

“Is it an account number for something?” Langly asked, pushing his thick, black frames up his nose.

 

Mulder shrugged, “Not sure. I mean it is sixteen numbers, so it could very well be linked to someone’s credit or debit account. We already tried using the numbers with a couple alphanumeric codes and as phone numbers, but no such luck. Turns out, time travel has turned us into terrible detectives, or we’ve just learned to rely on the technology we had too much.”

 

“What sort of technology did you have access to then...er, um, in 2016?” Byers stumbled with eager curiosity.

 

“Let’s just say, boys, that you could store Frohike’s entire porn collection; play virtual D&D with a friend on the other side of the world; and call your mom to let her know you’ll be home for dinner, all from a device that can fit into your back pocket.” Mulder said has he stood up.

 

Langly sighed and pouted, “I knew it. Lucky bastards. However, I am sure that makes it all the much easier for the bad guys to track you.”

 

He was right there, and Mulder gave him a nod and a point, and then looked back at the paper that Frohike was now scrutinizing. “Can you guys do something about that for us?”

 

Byers looked up, “Yes, we would be happy to look into it and find some leads. If anything else comes up, please send it our way.” 

 

Scully stood and stretched behind him. Mulder felt her come up and grab his shoulder, gently. “Boys, do you mind if Mulder and I go talk in the back room? We haven’t really had a chance to talk to each other about what happened without worrying someone was listening in, and it might be useful in figuring out the cause.”

 

“Mi casa es su casa, senorita,” Frohike said as stood and gave a gentle bow, “We will get to work on solving the number mystery.”

 

Suddenly Mulder felt a tug on his sleeve, “You heard the man, Mulder. They need to work, and we really need to talk.”

 

“Why do I have this feeling I am in trouble?” He thought out loud as he followed Scully into the Gunmen’s back room.

\--

 

2:01 AM

 

Scully was curled in a ball on a tattered, mustard colored recliner, opposite of Mulder. She was covered by a gaudy, crocheted afghan and only her head was visible. It looked like her eyelids were about to betray her any minute, but that didn’t seem to stop her from railing into him.

 

“Mulder, just a few weeks ago you got on my case for going after a suspect, without backup, and then you go directly to a man we know is evil and dangerous, without backup yourself. That’s what has me the most upset. If I knew where you were, I could have gotten to you sooner. I just don’t know why this still has not gotten through your thick skull after twenty some years. I need you to let me know where you are, particularly if shit is hitting the fan.” By the time her lecture was done she sounded less upset and more concerned. He understood why she harbored both feelings.

 

“I know, Scully. I know better, and I am sorry. I just wanted to see him for myself.” 

 

“What for, Mulder? If you weren’t finally going to end him, what good did it do you? I think you already knew what was coming and maybe some idea of why. I am not surprised he isn’t dead. Wasn’t dead. Will not be dead. Whatever,” she sighed and ran her hands through her hair, “I just want to know why plan on keeping me around and not you too? And I guess I just always assumed because of your abduction, your experiences, that you were in the same boat too.”

 

Mulder felt himself shrug and replayed his last conversation with the Smoking Man in his head. “Maybe I was protected initially, then maybe bringing me back after that reversed it. I am sure he knew that, and it gave him something to hold over my head. Ammunition to try and get me over to his side, finally.”

 

Her only response was a sleepy nod, before saying, “ Join the dark side, Fox, and I will complete your training,” in her best Darth Vader voice.

 

“I think you butchered that line, Scully, but it does make me realize I should have taken him up on his offer. Why I needed to survive.”

 

She threw up an eyebrow in question. 

 

“Had I died, I would have missed the next Star Wars movie. What’s the connection between Luke and Rey?!”

 

Suddenly he felt and empty soda can hit him in the chest.

 

“Mulder, as one of the Chosen Ones, I have decided that there will be no more Star Wars or sex for you.”

 

“There was going to be sex, Scully?” This piqued his interest because he had wanted them to talk about what they were going to do about their relationship, but before she could respond, the door opened. Frohike’s balding head poked through.

 

“What’s this I hear about sex?” He said. 

 

Mulder shrugged in unison with Scully. 

 

Frohike frowned, “You’ve been given another chance, Agent Scully. There are plenty of other fish in the sea.” He wagged his eyebrows at her, and Scully just bit her lip.

 

Mulder rolled his eye, “You got something, Frohike, or did you just come in here to eavesdrop?” 

 

“I don’t have to be in here to eavesdrop, G-man,” he quipped, “and yes, we may just have something for you. But only if you share whatever this is about Star Wars that you know.”

\--


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Lone Gunmen Headquarters

March 11, 1992

2:09 AM

 

“So, it’s not at all difficult for us to score account information from the major credit providers. Those guys are terrible at protecting consumer data,” said Frohike as he led the pair over to one of the work tops, where a probably once high-tech -actually, probably still high-tech- monstrous, pair of boxy, white monitors hummed.

 

“Mmm,” Scully heard Mulder grunt in agreement, “Well, that doesn’t change. All the technology improvements in the world and any antisocial nerds, with too much time on their hands, can still get that info.”

 

“Hey!” Langly protested, “Do you want our help or not?”

 

Scully shook her head, “He’s best to be ignored. What did you find?” She leaned in, looking at a sprawl of bright green text against a black screen. Her eyes watered from lack of sleep as she tried to focus.

 

How did any of us stand to read things like this, she thought.

 

“One exact match and a couple close ones,” Byers pointed to the screen and then moved aside to give them a closer look, “The exact match is for a credit card account belonging to a retired couple, in their seventies, in Boca Raton.”

 

“I’m guessing that Ernest and Doris MacLane are not your maestros of time travel?” Frohike asked. Scully looked over to Mulder who was frowning and looking at the other possible matches.

 

“It could be a cover, but somehow I don’t think it is,” he sighed in exasperation, as he rubbed his face. She could tell that he was in desperate need of rest, dark circles were now painted beneath his eyes, and his tone suggested a lack of patience, frustration, and defeat. She knew these were not characteristics that surfaced early in an investigation unless he was truly running on empty.

 

Frohike clapped him on the arm, as if he sensed Mulder’s mood shift too, “That’s what we thought, so we started thinking about less obvious uses of the numbers, and then Johnny-boy here had a brilliant idea.”

 

Byers came back to the keyboard, and Scully watched as he punched a series of keys. The screen shifted from one of lines of text to a pixelated map sporting a small red, crosshair in the center. 

 

“I started to feel like perhaps phone numbers or account numbers were too obvious. What if these numbers were linked to latitude and longitude coordinates?” He suggested pointing at the screen.

 

“We used something called the Global Posi…” Langly started before Mulder waved them off. 

 

“GPS, yeah we know about it,” Mulder stated, “What location hits were you able to get?”

 

Langly shook his head and seemed to pout. She had a feeling their knowledge of future technology was going to take the wind out of their sails, more often than not. 

 

“You know this isn’t fair. If you already know so much, why do you need our help?” He huffed in his nasally voice.

 

“Scully says computers and the internet are bad for me. Beside that, just because I know how to use a computer in the future, doesn’t mean I know how to use any of this crap,” Mulder countered.

 

She felt herself shoot him very much the same searing look that the three of them shot him. “Maybe you should just go take a nap, Mulder. You aren’t helping,” she shot before giving an apologetic look to the Gunmen, “Please, continue. Keep ignoring him.” 

 

Now it was Mulder’s turn to pout.

 

Frohike took over, “We were able to get four matches, depending on how we divided out the numbers. They either are coordinates for a position in China, Russia, Austria, or the UP.” He tapped the keyboard and the map and crosshair position shifted.

 

“The UP?” She asked.

 

“Upper Peninsula...of Michigan. Up near Lake Superior,” Byers said pointing at the latest map on the screen, “It looks like maybe it’s off an old logging road in the Ottawa National Forest.”

 

“Ah, the Porkies,” sighed Frohike.

 

Scully watched as Mulder turned to give a questioning look, while she felt herself frown. Something about what he said seemed familiar.

 

“The Porcupine Mountains,” Frohike continued, “There’s a few other parks and lots of wilderness up there. Really nice. Took a road trip through that area after some buddies and I made a trip to Quebec for some, um, specialty goods, in college. It was definitely an interesting trip.”

 

Scully had a feeling he knew what “specialty goods” were, and Mulder must have read her mind because he then said, “I am sure it was a ‘trip’ indeed, Melvin.”

 

Frohike just shrugged in response, while Scully suddenly had an epiphany. When she had gotten home, she had noticed a tourism pamphlet for Michigan was amongst her mail. She hadn’t given it much thought, other than it was probably just some junk mail from a mailing list she had ended up on. However, now it seemed a little serendipitous.

 

“I had a travel brochure for Michigan in my mailbox when I got home,” she said, “I didn’t think anything of it, but maybe someone sent it intentionally. It feels a little more than coincidental. Did you get anything, Mulder?”

 

“I am not sure. I didn’t check my box when we got in, but I think this might be the place to start our own Magical Mystery Tour,” he said pointing at the map, “Can you guys help us make travel arrangements?” 

 

“Yeah, what are you looking for?” Asked Langly, through a very large yawn.

 

“I don’t want us arousing suspicion. Maybe some fake accounts, driver’s licenses, plane tickets, camping gear” Mulder began, “I think we should leave as soon as possible. When’s your meeting with Blevins, Scully?”

 

She paused a beat, but had recently remembered something else, “It’s not until next Sunday, the 22nd, but I am suppose to be leaving next Wednesday for Chicago.”

 

“What’s in Chicago?”    
  


She watched as Mulder was searching his brain trying to remember if he knew where she had gone, but she knew he wouldn’t.

 

“Charlie’s wedding.”

 

“Who’s Charlie?” Asked Frohike, who was the only Gunmen who had not redirected his attention to figuring out their next move. 

 

“My little brother.”

 

“So that’s why you ditched me that week. I thought I scared you off, Scully. I am guessing your family was still on speaking terms with him at this time?” Mulder inquired. 

 

“More or less. I mean it’s shaky ground, that’s for sure. You don’t go to school to become a priest, then get a girl pregnant, and not expect my family to be a little perturbed. However, my mom was at least happy enough that he and Jenny, the girl he got pregnant, were finally getting married, so Charlie hadn’t, or hasn’t, put the final nail in the coffin yet. That didn’t come until after Dad and Missy died, and he declared himself an atheist. I know there were some other things, but Mom never wanted to discuss.” She realized that her explanation was more directed at Frohike than Mulder. Apparently, from her overtired stupor and muddled brain, she was prone to being more open, including to people she was merely a stranger to only hours ago. She had shared the nature of Charlie’s estrangement from the rest of the remaining Scully clan, more or less, with Mulder but not with anyone else.

 

“We can still get to Michigan and get you back in time for your family duties,” Mulder said thoughtfully.

 

She shook her head, “I don’t know, Mulder. There’s so much I missed with my family last time, that I don’t want to miss this time, and we don’t know how far down this rabbit hole goes.”

 

“I promise, that I will get you out of the hole and to Chicago for the wedding. I will even take you myself. Do you have a date?” He inquired with a smile, and she could not help but smile back and roll her eyes, “Then we can hop back in afterward. If we wait, Scully, we might miss our opportunity.”

 

She sighed, looking down, and picked at her nails, “That’s all well and good, Mulder, but what about this next week. Besides, I have at least ten messages from my mother on my machine at home, asking me to run a million more errands before we leave. Unless, I have some other family thing to attend to, I am not going to get out of those. You know my mother, she’s going to start asking questions.”

 

“What if you made it a family trip?” It was Byers this time that inserted himself into the conversation and caught everyone’s attention. 

 

“You mean, like, take my whole family on some wild goose chase through the woods for a time travel scavenger hunt? Yeah, I don’t think that will be happening, but thanks anyway, Byers.” If she sounded short with him, she didn’t mean to be. She just knew either way Mulder was going to chase down this lead, with or without her, and she preferred it be with her.

 

Byers eyes turned down from her admonishment, but then he looked back up and met her eyes again, ready to continue.

 

“You mentioned you have a sister, who lives out of state, correct? She’s still alive, right?” He swallowed, before she nodded for him to continue, “What if you told your mother the two of you decided to spend some time away together to catch up. She could vouch for you on your family’s end, and then we could use it as part of a cover on our end. One of us could come with as tech support, and with your sister, we would look like a pair of couples just headed to the forest for a backpacking trip.”

 

Mulder shot her an eager look right away. She could see that he was already on board with the idea, his brain hammering out logistics, but she was hesitant. She knew the plan would not be that simple. There were too many other variables in place, and Missy would have questions, which she wasn’t sure she was up for answering. She also would prefer to not put her sister in danger or death’s path again. 

 

Suddenly, she felt too overwhelmed. The room too small. Her head too small. It was as if the events from the last few days finally caused her sanity to cave.

 

“I need to lie down,” was all she said before she turned on her heel to head toward the couch.

\--

 

7:01 AM

 

It took a minute for her brain to realize that the beeping she was hearing was not in her dream -which was a strange one that involved a teenaged version of her and Missy chasing a shadow in the woods- but from Mulder’s wristwatch. She moaned and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes as she attempted to push herself up.

 

“Ah! Watch your elbow!” Mulder yelped.

 

She grimaced, realizing the placement of her arm, and put her hand up apologetically, more carefully pushing herself in a sitting position. The last things she remembered was going to lay down the sofa, Somehow she ended up asleep, and Mulder must have weaseled his way in. She let her eyes adjust and focused on the coffee table in front of the. Among piled papers and folders, was a herd of open, half-eaten takeout boxes were strewn, but something else smelled ripe and unappealing. Scully wrinkled her nose.

 

“Mulder, did you shower last night when we got in?”

 

He shook his head, eyes still closed, sprawled on the couch and feet on the table. Scully looked at her watch, pinched the freckled bridge of her nose, and let a yawn escape her lips. Despite Mulder’s smelly state and the time, she was tempted to just lay back down. Scully did the math, they had only slept for about three hours last night. Good thing she was a freshly minted twenty-eight year old. There was no way the fifty-two year old version of herself could have dealt with this many days of little, decent sleep.

 

Her mind went back to the events of the previous night, “So, what did you do after I jumped ship? Which I am sorry about, by the way. I just…”

 

Mulder held up a hand to stop her, let out a yawn, and then opened his eyes, pushing himself up. 

 

“I get it, Scully. You don’t need to apologize. It’s one thing to get those three involved,” he pointed toward the backroom where snoring could be heard, “but bringing in your sister is something else entirely. We would have to be careful about what we share, and how we run this. I am not even entirely convinced that it’s a great idea, but we did come up with a rough plan, if you are interested.”

 

She stretched and wiggled her toes, staring again at the table in front of her, “No, I think this might be an okay idea, actually. Besides, we need more people on our side right now, Mulder. We only have the Gunmen. No Skinners. No Deep Throats… No Tad O’Malleys.” She let out a breathy laugh with the last one.

 

“What you don’t think we could march into the Skinman’s office right now, tell him our story, and he’d believe it?” He asked in mock seriousness.

 

“Not unless we want to be marched straight to the asylum.”

 

“Well, Deep Throat is still alive, but he hasn’t come to me yet. And this whole business, I don’t think would be smart to share with him. Obviously, there were people who knew his secrets, and that didn’t turn out well for him.”

 

They frowned in unison, and Scully felt herself nod in agreement. 

 

“So you are going to ask your sister to join us on our camping adventure?” He asked when she didn’t say anything.

 

“Like I said, we need allies, Mulder. I feel like Missy will understand, be supportive. She will want to help.” 

 

She could tell her tone and words had gotten his attention. He sat up straighter and turned to her, “So, wait, are you planning on telling her everything?”

 

That was a question that had gnawed at her brain since before Byers even brought up the idea of doing the trip. Seeing her sister was unavoidable. Missy would be able to read her, and if there was anyone that could get Dana to crack open, other than Mulder, it was her. Hiding secrets from her sister was never something she was good at, particularly ones this weighty. 

 

“She’s going to know that I am not myself, Mulder, and she’s my sister. While I have you to talk to, I just feel like, now that I have her again, there is so much I want to share with her. So much I didn’t get to share,” Scully could feel a prickle in her eyes. She knew this went beyond making plans to track down their lead. Mulder’s arms went around her shoulder and pulled her close.

 

“I am not going to tell you what to do about Missy, Scully. I understand. You do what you feel is best. If we need to figure out another plan, we will, and if you need me there, let me know.” He grabbed her chin and turned her face to him. She leaned into his hand as he wiped a rogue tear.

 

“I think we both could use more sleep, Mulder, but we both need to get going.” As much as she wanted to snuggle back into the couch with him, she knew they needed to get started on things. She felt the instant switch in her demeanor, and she knew he did too. It was time to get back to business.

 

“But I don’t wanna,” he pouted drowsily and tried to grab her back toward him as she pulled away.

 

“No,” she reprimanded, “You need to go home and shower, and we both need to go into work, keep up appearances. I will call Missy to come over later.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed quietly, “I am having the Gunmen go over to our places today to do a sweep for bugs, so we can talk. Is there a way they will be able to get in?”

 

“I can always go home early and let them in,” she paused for a moment, “Will I be allowed to leave work early today, Agent Mulder? Pest control is coming at four.”

 

She watched as his eyes twinkled from her remark, and then he let out an exaggerated sigh, “I suppose, Agent Scully. Already trying to escape me, I see.”

 

“I have a feeling you will be impossible to escape this time around too, Mulder,” she bent down and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as she grabbed her keys from the end table next to him. His face told her that she caught him off guard, but she knew he would try to recover, which he did.

 

“That’s all?” He pouted.

 

She smiled at him and shrugged, “Bye, Mulder.” 

 

As she left Mulder sitting on the Gunmen’s couch, with a look of disappointment, she had to fight the urge to tell him that she loved him too.

\--

 


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

 

FBI Headquarters

Washington, D.C.

March 11, 1992

9:46 AM

 

It was unseasonably warm and the morning sun streaming through the basement windows, turned the office into an oven. Mulder could feel sweat beads forming beneath his button up, so he peeled off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He had gotten home, showered, navigated through D.C. area traffic, and pulled into the Bureau parking garage in record time, with the goal of pulling all X-Files related to time travel or anything else similar to their current situation. 

 

It was his first time in the office since their incident, and it looked just as he remembered it. It was like stepping into a time capsule, but not, all at the same time. The paper files with their standard, FBI, red striped border, haphazardly piled high on the edge of his desk, threatening to tumble over to the floor; the robust, metal filing cabinets standing like giants against the far wall; and the slide carousel on sitting patiently in front of projector screen, were a stark contrast to the sleek computers with electronic files and flat panel tv that would take their places in twenty four years. The office felt cozy and homey like this, whereas its future self had not. He pondered momentarily if that had been part of the disconnect when he and Scully had returned to the X-Files this time around. The office was no longer his office...this office.

 

He did a quick sweep for bugs and listening devices, and once he decided the coast was clear, he walked over to one of the cabinets and pulled a draw open listening to harsh sound of metal scraping metal paired with the subtle rhythm of the files hitting the top of the drawer’s opening. It took about twenty minutes, but Mulder managed to find most of the files he could remember. They now created a separate, heaping pile on his desk, which he dove into head first.

\--

A good hour and a half had passed before he heard the basement door open, and Scully revealed herself in a not quite so terrible suit and long, copper hair expertly smoothed and curled under at the end. At that moment he was fully immersed in a casefile where a couple backpacking in rural Montana described a pulsing wave cutting through the air, similar to what Scully had described on the bridge, one night before they had “switched minds.” They had spent the next day believing they were the other’s body before until the wave of energy came back through returning them back to their normal state, and to the day before. Local authorities merely assumed that the couple had been partaking in recreational substances, and their claims were dismissed. However, they had been insistent that something was amiss and went to the county sheriff who casually sent their report off to a regional bureau when some other people in reported the disturbance, minus the body-swapping. 

 

Something about this particular case seemed bizarrely familiar to Mulder, and he felt his face twist as he tried to remember why. It was very unlike him to forget anything this distinctive.He closed the file with a frown, and looked up at Scully, who was now perched in the chair across from him, eyebrow finally drawn up and a look of bemusement on her face.

 

“Anything interesting you care to share with the class? Sorry I am late by the way, but I brought coffee to share,” she smiled, pushing the styrofoam cup over to him..

 

He shut the file and shoved it aside. He took a sip of the coffee, looked at her in the chair, and changed the subject, “It is silly that you didn’t get a desk until you were down here for, what, five years? I really was a horse’s ass. Sorry, Scully.”

 

She set her own cup down, crossed her arms, and drew back her head. “I take it there is nothing of use in those files, hmm? And yes, you could be, can be, will always be, a little bit of a horse’s ass, Mulder,” she said as she leaned forward and grabbed the file. He watched as she skimmed the file, biting her lip as a look of consternation broke out across her face. 

 

“Mulder, they are describing what I felt on the bridge,” she pointed into the file, “and it was similar to that phenomena we experienced on that highway outside of Area 51 in the late 90s. I mean aside from the Freaky Friday scenario.”

 

Mulder felt himself frown again at her mention of a trip, long ago, to Nevada to meet a confidential source that had never panned out. He had recalled an off moment on a desert highway, outside of Area 51, where the air seemed to vibrate and electrify, and then nothing, except for his own intuition telling him that something else had happened, that something else was amiss. However, he could never dig more about the event from him conscious. Maybe there was something that had been taken from their memories which was tied to that event and others like it.

 

“Yeah,” he sighed, “I have this feeling that maybe they are connected. To this, I mean.” Mulder motioned between he and Scully.

 

“Are there more cases like this?”

 

Mulder shook his head and gestured to a few other files that had mentioned similar events. “Yeah, but little follow up, and after nothing seemed to happen after Nevada, other than a strange appearance of a waterbed at my apartment, I never thought about looking into them either. Honestly, I was surprised you even remembered the incident, Scully. You never brought it up until after all of this.”

 

He realized he had been looking down, while he was talking, and inadvertently playing with his boldly patterned tie, so he met her gaze for a response.

 

A sigh escaped wine red lips, “Honestly, I guess I never thought much of it either until now. Besides I was lost in my own feelings over going out to the desert for nothing, along with pondering the whole idea of having a normal life.” Now she was the one that seemed distracted.

 

A smirk spread across his face and he opened his arms wide as he leaned back in his chair. “What about all of this still does not say ‘normal life’ to you, Scully?”

 

The smile she gave him was large and glowing, and she tried to hide it behind her hand. He appreciated that her walls were not up in full force, that she would entertain his playfulness despite all that had happened. However, the moment he felt himself celebrate the small victory, her face morphed into somber and then serious. He watched as she opened her mouth to respond, but when no words came out, he decided to change course briefly. 

 

“So Dr. Scully, you are the one with the physics degree. Is this phenomena causing some sort of wormhole to open?” He asked.

 

Her face shifted again as she pondered his question momentarily and then looked ready to launch into a lecture.

 

“Mulder, wormholes, at this point in time, are merely a theoretical idea. Nobody has ever proven them to exist, number one, and number two, if they did, it’s believed they would be too small for anyone to travel through.” 

 

He immediately thought of an article he had read about a group of researchers in Barcelona engineering a wormhole in 2015, and as if she read his mind, she continued.  “And before your bring up the idea of ‘wormholes’ being created in labs. They are not the same. Those are magnetic facsimiles, not actual, space-time ones, which, once again are theoretical. So, nice try.”

 

“Scully, sometimes I think you are psychic.”

 

She rolled her eyes, “I am not saying that there was not some sort of event where space and time was manipulated, because clearly, it was. I just am not going to go around claiming wormholes just yet. I am guessing we will get more answers soon, and then we can go from there. But for now, I will look these files over more carefully, and then I want to get my report for Blevins sorted and out of the way.”

 

He nodded slowly considering things, and then his eyes fell on the framed picture of him and Samantha that had been a fixture of his desk for so long. There was some relief covered in sorrow knowing that that was a mystery he already had the answer to, a wild-goose chase that he didn’t need to take Scully on this time around. The thought had him returning to that conversation, in some space and time, long ago, about stopping and getting out the car, finding some semblance of a normal life. Suddenly, Mulder felt himself filled with a desire to get an answer to a new question. He looked at the clock and remembered there was somewhere he needed to be and someone there who could answer his question. Without a word to Scully, he got up and put his coat back on. She looked up at him inquisitively.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“What time is your sister coming over?” He asked, ignoring her question.

 

“Mom said she was a bit jet-lagged from her flight in from Seattle last night, so she wasn’t up when I called. I asked Mom to tell her that she should come by my place as five tonight, but I am not sure she will show up, so I was going to try her again after lunch,” she responded, question still written all over her face, “Mulder, seriously, where are you off to now? I just got here.”

 

He pointed at the desk, “Feel free to take it over. I will make sure they get a desk down here sooner than later.”

 

She stood up and the look of annoyance on her face seemed to reverberate to her hands as they squarely planted themselves her hips, “Yeah, okay, but once again, where the hell are you going?”

 

As he pulled his trenchcoat from the rack and threw it one, he briefly considered inviting Scully along on his personal field trip but quickly decided against it. They needed to get a start on figuring out the cause or connection between what had happened to them and the comparable experiences in the files he had pulled. However, these plans had already been made, and the urge to get some personal answers were strong and were for him alone. He truly felt bad ditching her. Crossing the room to where she was standing, he put his hands on her shoulders and hoped that his eyes could convey that.

 

“I need you to stay here and hold down the fort. See what information you can gather up about these events, and if anyone was developing a way to create, control, or manipulate them so that we aren’t going into Michigan completely blind. I need to go meet my father.”

 

“In Martha’s Vineyard?! Mulder, that’s over a nine hour drive! What about talking to Missy tonight? What about the trip? It’s already Wednesday. We don’t have a lot of time to pull this off. Can’t it wait? Can’t you call him?” Scully pleaded with him. He quickly got the idea that she didn’t want to bring her sister up to speed without him as backup.

 

He shook his head, “No, he’s here in D.C. We had plans to meet for lunch. Apparently he needed to meet with an old lawyer friend who lives in the area about an estate dispute between he and my mother. 1992 me has had this planned for a while, I can’t just call him cancel. No cell phones, remember?”

 

She made a deflated sigh, and he could see she was searching her brain to remember if he had left for lunch when they came back to town.

 

“Fine. Go,” she said as she turned as walked around to his chair and sat down heavily behind the desk.

 

“Thanks, Scully. If I don’t see you this afternoon I will see you at your place tonight,” he said as he made his way to the door.

 

“Mulder.”

 

Her voice was softer, and he turned and leaned on the doorframe to face her.

 

“I hope it goes well,” she said sincerely, “that maybe you get some of the closure you never got.”

 

The gentle change in her tone told him she realized he was probably feeling the same waves of varied emotion in seeing his father as he was sure she was about seeing her sister, and surely the rest of her family. He smiled and thought about crossing the room to lay a kiss on the crown of her head, but decided it was probably best not to for a variety of reasons.

 

“Thanks, Scully,” he said with a smile instead, before turning and heading toward the elevators.

\--

 

1:12 PM

 

Mulder sat opposite of his father in the booth of a well established pub somewhere between Georgetown and Dupont Circle. It was a dark and dingy place, but popular among locals and government employees, and the lunch crowd had finally begun to thin out. The table and seats were made of the same dark cherry wood, which had long seen since better days. A once shiny coat of protective poly was now cast a worn haze over the warm wood, and Mulder caught himself staring at a heart with the initials “J+A” carved into the table’s surface. 

 

Lunch was really more of a couple drinks over a half-eaten basket of fries and complimentary peanuts, the shells of which now littered the floor and and table top. As he imagined it would, seeing his father again was quite the experience. There were moments where he felt overcome with what felt like grief teamed with disbelief, and other moments where it felt as if nothing had ever happened, which, at least in terms of his father’s death, nothing had yet. It took a good half hour before he felt himself get control over the rollercoaster in his head.

 

Conversation had been what Mulder considered “safe subjects,” things like sports and brief discussion over the upcoming elections, including a shared laugh over Ross Perot throwing his hat into the election. Mulder and his father rarely shared deep, personal discussion, and the furthest he had pushed it so far today was to ask about his father’s meeting with his lawyer.

 

“How is work, Fox?” The husky gravel of Bill Mulder’s voice broke through the brief silence.

 

Mulder cracked open another peanut. “Good.”

 

“Are you still working on those paranormal cases?” 

 

Mulder sensed his father’s disappointment with that questions. What his father had seen as a waste of his talents, Mulder knew they were the key to the ultimate goal his father had hoped he could meet.

 

“Nobody else is. However, they have assigned me a partner, or at least someone to prove the validity of the work,” he offered to his father, who raised his eyebrows before looking down at his scotch and then taking a drink.

 

“And what trouble did he get himself in to be stuck with the likes of you?” 

 

The question was only half-joking.

 

“She,” Mulder corrected, “didn’t do anything ever, as far as I know. Her name is Dana Scully. She’s a doctor from Quantico, and my superiors felt she would be a good person to send down to keep tabs on me. Make sure I play by the rules.”

 

“Interesting choice,” the elder Mulder replied.

 

Mulder felt a crease form between his brows. Something about his father’s response was odd, and Mulder wondered why he said it. Mulder could not recall the exact nature of this conversation the first time, but he knew that his father had asked about work. However, Mulder did not remember this particular reaction about his pairing with Scully. It was disconcerting, but he chose not press on about it now. 

 

His father broke the silence again, “I should probably get going, Fox. It’s getting late.”

 

As his father stood and pulled out his wallet throwing a few bills on the table, Mulder grabbed his wrist. His father looked surprised at the physical contact between the two of them and lightly disengaged himself from Mulder’s grasp, but Mulder continued to stare at him. Studying the man he himself had become so much like in the future. He was not saddened by the slight recoil, because he could now empathize with Bill Mulder. They had both sacrificed so much, and for what?

 

“Dad,” he began after a beat, “I want to ask you a question.”

 

He watched his father swallow, as if in concern.

 

“If you knew the big picture, the end game, the future, and you could go back and relive your life, would you do it the same?”

 

Mulder continued to gaze up and his father, hoping that he knew there was more to it than just that. Would he make the same sacrifices? Give up his daughter? Become involved in the project? Allow himself to be consumed by his work, neglecting his family and the people he had once loved?

 

The quiet seemed to stretch for an eternity and for a second Mulder thought that perhaps time had stopped, and then suddenly his father’s voice unfroze it again.

 

“No,” was Bill Mulder’s only reply before he nodded a silent and curt goodbye, and Mulder watched him exit the pub.

\--


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

Georgetown, Washington, D.C.

March 11, 1992

4:30 PM

 

“All done!” Frohike said as he ceremoniously set down some of the equipment they had brought with them on her dining table.

 

She watched as Langley made himself comfortable and sat down right away, without asking, while Byers and Frohike waited for her invitation. She motioned for them to take a seat, as she turned the boiling water down on the stove and turned the oven on to preheat before joining them at them at the table herself.

 

“Find anything?” She asked as she propped her elbow up and rested her chin on her palm.

 

“No, everything seems pretty clean so far. It was the same at Mulder’s place too. I am guessing they probably already got what they wanted while you guys were on your case. Doesn’t mean they couldn’t still have listened in though. Did you guys talk about...you know?” Langley inquired making some sort of bizarre facial expression she could not quite identify.

 

“No, we’ve tried to be very careful about that because we figured as much. It just gets tiring to know that you never really get your privacy,” she sighed and rested her hand on her chin, staring at the wall across from her.

 

The last part was more of a thought out loud that she had not really intended to share, but the sentiment was true. No matter how well she and Mulder tried to watch their backs over the years, keep their lives to themselves, she knew that someone would eventually find them and weasel their way into knowing more than she and Mulder wanted them to know. It was exhausting constantly looking over her shoulder. 

 

“Amen to that, sister.” Frohike replied with a nod. 

 

Scully looked up at the clock hanging on the wall she had been seemingly staring through. She hoped Mulder would show up before her sister, if at all. Behind them the oven beeped to let her know it was ready, and she excused herself to throw in a pan of garlic bread.

 

“You all are staying for dinner, correct?” She called over her shoulder.

 

She really meant it as more of a command than a question. If Mulder didn’t show up soon, she would need their help in explaining the plan, and although these Gunmen probably did not hold the same feel of comfort in her presence yet, she did find comfort in them. They had been her friends, albeit sometimes annoying and inappropriate, and their presence in her apartment helped to soothe her still frazzled nerves.

 

As she returned to the table, they were all looking to each other to find the answer, clearly failing.

 

“Okay, let me answer that for you. You are staying for dinner. I am not going to explain this whole covert mission that you planned with Mulder on my own.”

 

Before any of them could protest there was a knock at the door. She silently excused herself and on tiptoe looked through the peephole. There stood Mulder holding up flimsy plastic bags and sporting a goofy smile. She opened the door to let him in.

 

“Why didn’t you let yourself in?”

 

“I don’t have a key to your place yet. Remember?”

 

“Oh…” Her mouth stilled for a moment as she confirmed this fact in her head before continuing, “I am making dinner. Boys are at the table. Missy should be here in about twenty minutes.”

 

He had made his way into the kitchen and dropped the plastic bags down on the counter. She watched as he made an exaggerated pout through the opening between the kitchen and living area.

 

“But I brought Chinese,” he whined.

 

“Then put it in the fridge. I think the Gunmen are staying for dinner,” Scully made sure the look she gave them cemented that they were indeed staying, whether they wanted to or not.

 

“She thinks? We are being held hostage, Mulder,” interrupted Frohike, “Not that I mind.” 

 

He winked at her and she rolled her eyes.

 

“Do you have your master plans?” She directed her question at Mulder, who then picked up a file that had must have been tucked in his coat when he came in. 

 

He tossed the file out of the kitchen and to the table where the Gunmen were sitting. Byers fumbled unsuccessfully to grab it, and she tried not to smile at the awkward reaction. While the Gunmen appeared to make themselves busy looking over the file. She made her way back to the kitchen, where she caught Mulder trying to sneak a cookie from a well-used, mustard colored Tupperware, which her mother had dropped off as a “good luck” before she left for Oregon.

 

“Hey, out of there,” she playfully scolded, “You’ll spoil your dinner.”

 

“But Scully, you know I can’t resist your mother’s cookies,” he took a deliberate bite and smirked.

 

She knew the statement was dripping with innuendo, and decided to fight fire with fire.

 

“Mulder, I thought you only liked my cookies,” she wagged her eyebrows at him and then turned to the stove to stir a pot of pasta sauce and put spaghetti into the pot of hot water. 

 

Suddenly she sensed he was close behind her, his breath in her ear causing a few errant hairs that had fallen out her ponytail to tickle against her cheek. She felt his hands snake around her waist.

 

“Are you offering?” He teased into her ear and she felt her cheeks go red as her body tingled and buzzed.

 

“Mulder, the kids could be watching,” she wiggled out of his grasp and nodded her head back at the Gunmen.

 

“I miss you,” he said as he leaned around her, in a way that she knew was meant to catch her gaze.

 

“I know,” she said quietly, “and we will talk about it. If we get a chance, tonight, after everyone leaves. Now isn’t the time, Mulder.”

 

They really did need to talk. As important as figuring out what had happened to them was, figuring out how to navigate their complex relationship, especially given the circumstances, was even more so. She looked up to see that he was now leaning with his back against the counter. Studying her carefully as she felt he seemed to be doing a lot lately. He wore a boyish, floppy grin, and his sleepy, hazel eyes shimmered with hope. 

 

“You know, you really shouldn’t stare. It isn’t polite,” she turned her attention to the oven, motioning for Mulder to grab her a pot holder. “How was the meeting with your father?”

 

“Good,” he sounded sincere, “I mean we won’t be joining any father-son softball leagues anytime soon, but I got an answer to a question I had. He did say something though that kind of caught me off guard. Something I have no recollection of him saying before.”

 

As she pulled the pan of bread out of the oven and set it on the other side of the stove, Scully felt herself give Mulder a questioning look, but he didn’t add anything else. She would pry later. His eyes had now shifted to concern, which was directed at her.

 

“Are you sure you want all of us here? Maybe you should talk your sister, alone, Scully.”

 

She scratched the outside of her ear and frowned, “I don’t know if I can, Mulder. Honestly, this is still just all so…”

 

“Surreal.” He finished, while grabbing the pot of pasta out her hands, draining the excess water into the sink before handing it back.

 

“Thanks, and yes. I just need you here, and I need other people here who aren’t in the same boat but believe our predicament. I know Missy is open to the extreme, but this might even be too extreme for her, Mulder. I need backup. I don’t want to be the only one that sounds like a crazy person.”

 

Mulder pulled her into a hug. “In the words of a woman I know very well Scully, it’s fine.”

 

She looked up and smiled at him. A knock came at the door, and she pulled away from him.

 

“That’s probably her,” she said. Scully felt herself pull in a deep breath and smooth out her shirt. She felt Mulder’s hand connect with the small of her back.

 

“Well then, let’s get this show on the road,” he almost whispered into her ear as he pushed her away from him and toward the door.

\--

 

It took a few minutes for the initial shock of seeing her sister again to slowly fizzle and quell. Upon initially opening the door Scully felt like a bottle of soda that had been shaken and in danger of being open too quickly, her emotions ready to burst out. The phrase, “Keep it together,” was stuck on repeat in her head, but there stood Missy, filling her apartment with an overpowering presence she had always carried with her. Undoubtedly, Scully was truly happy to see her sister, and she found herself giving her another embrace, without a second thought, after the initial, awkward welcome.

 

“Wow, two hugs, Dana? You must have really missed me,” Missy joked, sporting a luminous smile.

 

Scully noticed as Mulder, who had moved toward the dining table and the Gunmen to give the sisters some space, caught Missy’s eye. Missy directed the familial arched eyebrow to her.

 

“If I had known this was going to be a party, I would have brought something to share,” her sister said as she crossed the living room into the dining area, “Hi, I am Dana’s sister Melissa.” 

 

She first stretched her hand toward Mulder, and Scully quickly strode over to finish introductions.

 

“Missy, this is my partner, Fox Mulder, and his friends John Byers, Richard Langly, and Melvin Frohike,” Scully nodded to each of the Gunmen, “Just an FYI, everyone here goes by their last name, particularly, Mulder.”

 

Scully wanted to add,  _ “Not that you have ever followed that rule.” _ But she bit her tongue. Byers and Langley both met her with an awkward nod and a handshake, while Frohike did a gentle bow and made some comment about beauty obviously running in the family. Missy played along before directing her attention back to Mulder.

 

“Fox, eh? That’s quite the name. Were your parents some sort of naturalists? Hippies?” Missy joked as she slung her purse around the back of dining table chair on which she was leaning.

 

“Far from it,” Mulder returned with a half-chuckle, “My mother is about as much as a WASP as one can be, and my father worked for the State Department. There wasn’t much peace and love going on in our home.”

 

“Maybe they were psychic?” Missy said with a quiet, playful grin, before she gave her sister a wink. 

 

Scully shot her sister “the look,” just as she felt herself blush. To recover she motioned for Missy to come into the kitchen to help her, but before Missy could make a move, Mulder had made his own motion for her to sit down. Making his way into the kitchen instead.

 

“I’ve got it, Scully,” he said as he made himself busy helping her move salad, pasta, and bread into serving dishes and bowls; gathering plates, silverware, and glasses, setting them on the table; and taking drink orders. Never once did he attempt to act as if being in her apartment, spending time with her outside of the job was something new and different.

 

Scully could feel her sister’s gaze trained on them, clearly aware that the interaction between she and Mulder were more than that of two people that had just been partnered together at work. She knew how natural and effortless the actions between them were, and there was very little way around it at this point. They had been like a married couple, for all intents and purposes, a better part of their lives, and disguising their natural and trained simpatico would be particularly difficult in the company of those who knew them best. If Missy was already filled with questions about this evening, she certainly was now.

 

Almost on cue, the moment Scully took her seat, Missy cleared her throat, “So Dana, how long has it been that you and Fox have known each other?” 

 

The insinuation of the question was clear. Mulder looked to Scully as if to say the ball was in her court, and the Gunmen just all stiffened in unison. Apparently she took too long to answer the question because Missy spoke up again.

 

“Dana,” she began between a sip of wine, “you have something to share? Because something feels...different, and it just seems like there is a reason for all of this.” Missy motioned to the dinner table and guests, and then further leaned over with a glimmer in her eye, “Are you pregnant?”

 

“No!” Scully cried, “Jesus, Melissa.”

 

“Well, you guys seem awfully chummy, and you don’t seem yourself, so…”

 

“So, what? That’s your automatic conclusion? God, good thing you didn’t ask that in front of Mom and Dad. Dad would have died from another heart attack.” Scully didn’t even consider the words before they fell out of her mouth, and she saw her sister’s face warp into semi-chaotic concern.

 

“Dad had a heart attack?” She watched as her sister twisted frantic fingers into cinnamon curls, “I know I have been a bit AWOL in Seattle, but why didn’t anyone tell me.”

 

All eyes were on Scully as she grabbed at one of her older sister’s hands, “No, I am sorry, Missy. I didn’t mean to scare you. Dad did not have a heart attack...not yet anyway.”

 

The confusion only further cemented itself in her sister’s eyes as the gazed into her own, trying to get a read on what was going on. Her voice turned serious, “What do you mean, ‘not yet,’ Dana?” 

 

For Scully it felt like Mulder and the Gunmen had melted away from the table, and it was just her and Missy. She turned in her seat to completely face her sister, grabbing both of her hands, their gazes locked.

 

“Missy, something happened to me, and to Mulder, when we were on our case in Oregon, or bef- after that,” Scully shook her head, not sure how to continue. It seemed so effortless when Mulder told the Gunmen. “I am not quite sure how to explain it, or even if you will entirely believe me. But I feel like you are one of the few people that will believe us. The guys know, but I want you to know to because I want your help and because you are my sister. I just need you to know.”

 

Missy looked at the men across the table and Mulder who were all sitting quietly watching the events unfold. 

 

“What do you need me to know, Dana? What happened with Dad?”

 

Scully turned to the Gunmen. She knew now that perhaps Mulder was right, and that maybe she needed less of an audience to do this. Well, almost.

 

“Guys, do you mind if Mulder, Missy, and I go talk in the other room?”

 

Byers, ever the gentleman, shook his head first, “No, please, of course. We will finish dinner, and clean up. Keep ourselves busy.”

 

Scully stood up and offered her sister a hand, “Thanks, make yourselves at home. Remote is on the coffee table.”

 

With that Scully felt Missy take her hand, silently. They walked back to her room, with Mulder trailing behind.

\--

 

Missy sat cross-legged in the middle of Scully’s bed, back resting on the headboard, disheveled cinnamon hair curling around a face of confusion. Scully sat opposite of her, while Mulder just stood there. She motioned for him to come sit next to her.

 

“You know this all looks very untoward, Dana, but seriously, what’s up?” Missy uncomfortably joked.

 

Scully took a deep breath, “Missy, a few nights ago, the world was...collapsing around me. Mulder was very sick, and I had to deliver a vaccine to him before it was too late. However, by the time I reached him, it was too late. Someone had plans of taking me anyway and leaving him behind, along with a lot of other people, to die.”

 

Missy’s continued to stare at Scully, brows twisted with uncertainty, “Dana, I am confused. What are you talking about? What does this have to do with Dad? Was he with you two? Was he sick too? I just saw him today he was fine, nobody said anything to me about any of this.”

 

Scully grabbed her sister’s hands again and squeezed. “That’s because none of this happened yet. Dad wasn’t there, because had been dead for over twenty years. Mom was gone…” Scully paused, hesitating on her next sentence, “You were gone.”

 

Missy just frowned with distressed before saying, more calmly than Scully had anticipated, “I am not following. Half our family is dead, including myself?”

 

“Yes, in the future.”

 

“The future? We will all die, one day in the future, Dana, so I am still not following.” Now her sister just looked at her as if she had completely lost it.

 

“Missy, that’s not what I am talking about. On that bridge there was some sort of light and energy. It felt like my brain -our brains- were being dismantled, and when Mulder and I woke up, we weren’t in the our time any more, at least not mentally. We were here, in this time, in these bodies. It was like time bent back on us physically but not consciously. I know this sounds too extreme, even for someone as open minded as you, but you have to believe me, Missy. Like I said, we need your help,” Scully pleaded with her older sister. She hoped her sister could look into her eyes and see inside. That she was not making this up. That she had not gone crazy.

 

Scully watched as her sister studied her intently. The air seemed to buzz almost as much as it did the night on the bridge, and it was minutes before she responded, “From how far in the future have you two come?” 

 

Mulder spoke before she could reply, “Twenty-four years.”

 

“Twenty-four years,” Missy quietly echoed. She could see her sister was doing some mental math.

 

“Yes. Just a few days ago, it was 2016, for us. We had had a career together, a life together...and then suddenly, it all was reset. Except for me and Mulder.” Scully said quietly, pondering where to go next with this conversation, what her sister’s next move would be.

 

“That’s what is different about you,” Missy said pointedly but not yet fully focusing on either she or Mulder. 

 

Scully felt herself relax some at Missy’s response. Her sister shifted on the bed and leaned in closer.  “It’s not my kid sister that I see in there.” 

 

Scully could swear her sister was past her exterior and into her brain.  It was her natural instinct to move away, to close up some, but she knew better. She needed to let her sister in to see everything, so that hopefully she would know the situation, as best as possible, and help.

“Dana, I believe you, and I want you,” Missy nodded to Mulder too, “both of you need to tell me everything about your lives, and how I can help you now.”

Scully began to tell her sister everything that had happened to her and Mulder from their previous timeline, starting in Oregon and on. She felt as if once she opened up, there was no stopping the sea of feelings and emotions that came with every story and hardship. Twenty years of everything she had ever wanted to share with her sister, when she wasn’t there, tumbled out in tears, anger, frustration, dismay, and sorrow. Her sister’s reactions to their lives, to the many injustices carried out against them and the people they loved, amplified the electricity in the room. Scully was grateful that Mulder hung back during all of this, only interjecting as needed. At times she forgot that he was there, as she and Missy shared in deep, personal moments, the way only sisters can.

It took well over two hours to unload their tale and when Scully was done, she could tell her sister was emboldened with a passion to help change their fates, her own, and the fate of the wider populous.

“Dana, Fox, these men, they must be stopped. These crimes that they have committed against women, children, each other…They are atrocious, and that is an understatement,” Scully saw her sister her pause and almost smile a bit before looking venomous, “And here I have been causing a ruckus out west over women’s reproductive rights, but the shit these assholes are have been up to right under everyone’s noses, it makes me sick. I still can’t fathom what they did to you, Dana. What they did to both of you.”

“And you,” Scully heard Mulder add quietly in reference to her murder in this very apartment.

“Yes, but I was dead. I didn’t have to live with the consequences and fallout of their actions. You two did. You two had to be the martyrs; watch your loved ones be systematically taken, hurt, or murdered; be taken from each other for their nefarious purposes! It makes me sick that these selfish bastards abused their power!” Missy voice roared with angered conviction. Where Scully was able to play cool and calm, containing and disguising her feelings effortlessly, Missy had always been more open and raw.

Scully grabbed her sister’s arm and squeezed. “I know,” she said tamely, “but we can’t let our anger consume us if we want to take them down this time. I know you know that, Missy. We know what is, potentially coming, so we have the upperhand. Hopefully. Perhaps we can stop what is already in motion. Stop the abductions of innocent people, the testing, and this virus. We have a lead in Upper Michigan, and we are hoping that is a place to start. However, we have to act now, and we need you there with us.”

“Of course,” Missy nodded as if she were an eager child, “what do we need to do?”

“Talk to the Gunmen,” Mulder spoke up, “If you are willing, we have a plan in place to get us started, and then once we know what is in Michigan, we will go from there.”

Before Scully could add anything, Missy was up and at the door, looking like as fiery and determined as Scully had ever remembered seeing her. Although, her sister had not much to offer in terms of skills for their mission, Scully was glad to have her sister on their side and ready to fight whatever was coming ahead.

“Then let’s go talk to your friends, and Dana,” Scully stopped at the directness of her name, “please find a way to have Mom nag Dad into seeing a cardiologist before we go.”

Scully smiled, and then followed her sister and Mulder back to the dining room where they spent the rest of the evening hashing out their plans for the next week.

\--

 


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

US Highway 51

Hazelhurst, WI

March 14, 1992

2:34 PM

 

The plan had been for Scully to submit her report to Blevins early with the request to take the entire next week off for her brother’s wedding, at her family’s request, since she was to miss the day after with them, due to their meeting. Missy was to spin a tale to their family about how she and Dana wanted to spend some uninterrupted “sister time” exploring Chicago and the surrounding areas, before they were due in on Wednesday evening for wedding duties. To everyone’s relief, both stories were accepted without questions, and Missy had also done a fantastic job sweet talking their airline into not only moving their outbound flight without charge but upgrading the sisters’ seats for free as well. Mulder had forgotten how much easier flying and changing flight arrangements had been before 9/11.

 

Meanwhile, he and Byers left early Friday night in order to make the almost twelve hour drive from D.C. to Chicago, where they picked up Scully and her sister at O’Hare International when their flight arrived the next morning. Frohike and Langley had cautiously tailed them in a rental, with before  checking into a Chicago area hotel under the names “Dana and Mel Scully.” There they would intercept and redirect any incoming calls from the hotel to a “mobile phone,” that the Gunmen were quite proud of, but Mulder and Scully both found themselves trying not to break into laughter upon seeing. 

 

For the last eight hours Mulder, Scully, Byers, and Missy had been on the road driving north out of flat farmlands to the rolling hills and woodlands of a snow covered, northern Wisconsin, posing as two couples heading to the Northwoods for an off-season, backpacking trip through the UP. It was Mulder’s turn to drive and lookout for a place stay for the night, before they backpacked into the Porcupine Mountains. To his left was yet another roadside motel with a “No Vacancy” sign lit and a slew of snowmobiles lined up across the front. He sighed. He did not anticipate that in March they would still have compete with winter recreationists for a place to stop. If he was being honest with himself, the lack of sleep was certainly wearing on him, and he could feel himself fighting “highway hypnosis.” As they passed under a railbridge with the phrase “T-Bird Country” graffitied across its side, in large sloppy letters, he heard one of the sleeping passengers in the back of the rickety VW wagon rouse and make their way to the front.

 

“How are you hanging in there?” said the soft yet raspy voice of Melissa Scully, as she moved long, nimble legs between the center counsel to settle herself into the passenger seat. “Ready for a break?”

 

“Mmmmm,” Mulder moaned in defeat, “Are you offering to take over? I am not sure how much longer I can force myself to stay awake to take in the sights of ‘T-Bird Country’.”

 

Missy furrowed her brows in confusion.

 

Mulder snorted and shook his head, “Never mind.”

 

Melissa shrugged and looked at her sister’s sleeping form behind her, “I am glad she is getting some sleep. She needs it.” 

 

Mulder nodded his head in agreement, “Scully has always been a great car sleeper.”

 

He saw Missy crack a smile and look out the window next to her, “Yeah, she has. I remember when we made the big move from California to Maryland during high school, everyone was covered in Dana drool at some point. Maybe she was just storing up for the sleepless nights to come.”

 

Mulder sensed a change in Missy’s mood and in his peripherals saw a mood change swim over Melissa’s face.

 

“When Dana brought up Dad dying, I thought it was happening to her again,” her voice was quiet and filled with an emotion that was a mix of sadness, concern, and sympathy.

 

Mulder felt her eyes studying him looking to see if he knew what she was talking about. He searched his muddied memory for anything he knew about teenage Scully. Despite their long, personal relationship, it was something he realized she had never really talked about. They surely had shared stories of awkward and embarrassing moments of their adolescence sometimes on long car rides later in their work relationship, or at dinner in their home much later, if the conversation meandered that direction. However, in typical Scully style, she had shared little that was truly personal or overly remarkable.

 

Missy had piqued his interest, and he took the bait. Perhaps there was something that she could share that could be useful in their current situation. “What happened, Melissa?”

 

“She never told you?” He could see her roll her eyes, “I am not surprised. She probably has the whole thing buried so far back she probably doesn’t even remember it herself. Typical Dana: repress anything that would need her to open up and accept things about herself that she doesn’t want to accept.”

 

Mulder felt himself nodding. He knew the Scully Missy spoke of well, and while Scully had certainly changed over the years, that guard was still there, ready to go.

 

“When we were kids, Dana would have these dreams that would often uncannily match things that would later happen in real life. I mean, I feel like that happens to everyone, every now and again, but to Dana, it was more frequent. Sometimes eerie,” Mulder caught her pause as she bit her lip and leaned into the passenger window, “But when we moved to Maryland it all changed. Some students from our high school had been killed, and she had visions of them. They would speak to her. She had nightmares about their deaths. She said the devil came to her as an angel in her dreams, maybe when she was awake as well. Honestly, I try not to think about it too much either. I was terrified for her. She was hell bent on helping these kids, but we were just kids ourselves. She was in over her head, and when we tried to get help from our father, to tell him what happened, it just…”

 

Melissa stopped, and he could tell that there were tears in her eyes. He could tell that this was painful for Missy to recount. He didn’t want to push her, but she was right, he didn’t know this story. He swallowed, “What happened next?”

 

“It all just imploded. He acted like he didn’t believe her, but I know he did. I think he knew what was happening, but he didn’t want to accept what his Starbuck was... Anyway, Dana ended up getting attacked by the same person who killed the other kids in our town. He was someone we had trusted -just like our father- that had tried to help her hone her abilities. Obviously, she survived, but she was never the same. She shut herself in, closed herself off from her feelings, and I think just tried to do what she thought would make it feel like our father loved and trusted her again,” Missy sighed deeply and looked at Mulder with same intensity he expected from Scully, “She acted like the visions and dreams stopped happening and never came back, but I don’t believe her. I know she just uses her logic and science to satiate her denial and lock away her potential. It’s too hard and hurtful to face her reality, I think.”

 

The silence seemed to extend as far as the forests they were driving through, as Mulder mulled over the story in his head. He thought of all of the times that Scully had opened up to him that she had witnessed something spiritual or seen someone that had passed only to be just as dismissive as she was to him, and just like that another piece to the mystery of Scully seemed to fall into place for him. If she could deny and explain away the incredible in this universe, then she wouldn’t have to accept the incredible about herself. Especially if those traits were ones that brought trauma and were met with heavy disbelief from those she felt she needed to prove herself to most. His heart floated and sunk all at once.

 

“I think you might be right about her seeing things still, Missy, and maybe it does fit into all of this. I don’t know...but hopefully we can find some answers soon.” Mulder said quietly breaking the silence.

 

He watched as Missy reached her hand across the counsel to give him a sympathetic pat on the leg and an understanding smile, “How about at the next gas station you let me take over, and you can keep her company while you both rest? I think it is well needed.”

 

Mulder nodded and felt himself push the accelerator down a bit more as a station sign rose up over the horizon line on the highway ahead.

\--

 


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

Royal Motel

Ironwood, Michigan

March 14, 1992

5:02 PM

 

Scully watched as her older sister exited the the office of their latest attempt for overnight lodging with a broad grin and triumphant wave of her arms that sent a set of, what Scully assumed to be, room keys onto the pavement. The golden hour was approaching, as the day began to wind down, and between her warm breath against the cold air and the orange light, Missy’s auburn curls appear to be a halo of fire as she stooped to retrieve the keys before bounding across the parking lot to hop into the driver’s side of the Gunmen’s VW. 

 

“Success! Finally! I thought we were all going to have to sleep in here tonight. Not that this would be the first time I have camped in a van, but it’s definitely pretty cold in these parts” Missy beamed at her sister, “Two rooms: one double and one single with a pull-out. The manager inside needs to see IDs for everyone and take down information. Ready to wake the beasts in the back?”

 

Scully turned to see Mulder and Byers’ sleeping forms. Byers had done a lot of the driving during initial leg of the boys’ trip from D.C. to Chicago and had only been sleeping most of the several hour drive north. It was the fact that Mulder was actually sleeping that surprised her the most. He had offered to drive most their trip together, but a couple of hours ago, he had willingly taken Missy’s offer to take over at a gas station. Given his flirtatious advances, she initially thought it was to get in some time snuggling next to her, but Byers apparently was a heavy sleeper, who had since sprawled out taking up more of the back than necessary. Nobody had the heart to move him, so Scully moved to the front to keep her sister company. They had only just passed into the Upper Peninsula of Michigan when they finally found a sign that said “Vacancy.” They all had agreed that there was no way they would make it to their final location before dark, and everyone needed a break from travel and time to discuss next steps before moving on. Scully nodded to her sister and they both climbed out the of the van to the back throwing open the back doors letting light and cool air pour over Mulder and Byers.

 

Byers grumbled and rubbed at his eyes, “Where are we?”

 

Missy pulled one of their packs out of the back next to him, while Scully climbed in to kneel next to Mulder.

 

“Just made it into Michigan. Dana and I found a motel for us to hunker down in for tonight. We have to get everyone checked in,” Missy responded as she offered Byers a hand to help him up.

 

Scully looked over at her sister and Byers before looking down at Mulder. Part of Byers’ “disguise” was to shave his beard, which was Scully was still getting used to. Shaving his beard also had shaved probably a good decade off his age. He looked like awkward teenager next to her confident, statuesque sister.

 

Below her was Mulder, who had actually trimmed up his hair even more, let his own bead grow in. She was never sure how she felt about him with a beard and recalled the last time he had a beard. How he thought it funny to try and tickle and scratch her with it whenever they spooned in the bed they shared in the unremarkable house they had once shared in Virginia.

 

“Hey, have I died and gone to heaven, because I am seeing angels,” he said in a playful, gravelly voice, a trademark grin across his face. He even waggled his eyebrows at her for punctuation.

 

Scully groaned, and then upon further inspection of Mulder found herself smirk as her eyes landed on his groin.

 

“Mulder, you don’t need to be pitching any tents tonight. We found a motel to stay in,” she whispered playfully.

 

She watched as he looked down and quickly adjusted himself. 

 

“Hey now, I am still adjusting this young, spry body. Cut a guy some slack, Scully,” Mulder replied as he tried to further adjust himself.

 

“And it’s Byers that is doing you in?” Scully felt her eyebrow rise with this sides of her mouth.

 

Mulder looked in the direction who was now hoisting his own pack as he spoke to Missy and shrugged, “I don’t know, Scully. With that shaved, baby face, he’s not a bad looking guy.”

 

Scully stood up as much as she could in the back of the VW and shook her head. “Alright, well you can try to make your move tonight, after we get settled, Romeo. We need to go into the office to finish check-in.”

 

\--

 

Royal Motel Office

5:17 PM

 

“George and Katherine Hale,” the motel manager said slowly, in a deep, nasally draw, as he looked over Mulder and Scully’s fake licenses and took down their names on a typed form in a worn binder, “I am going to assume the two of you will taking the double.”

 

“Yes!” Scully heard her sister excitedly reply from behind her, causing both her and Mulder to turn around and look at her questioningly. Missy only winked back, “My friend and I are fine working out the single. Besides this is like their honeymoon. We are just heading up into the Porkies for some skiing together.”

 

“No kidding,” said the manager with a shrug, “Whereabouts you folks staying after tonight?”

 

After pausing a beat, Mulder spoke up, rolling with Missy’s story, “Just a small place off of Superior that some family friends aren’t using over the winter and invited us to use it for the week while we enjoyed the great Northwoods. Perhaps you can point us in the best direction to get there?”

 

The older gentleman looked up from the form as he handed the four of them back their IDs and pushed a pair of dated, plastic framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. He sniffled before continuing, “Well, I guess that depends on where you going and what you are driving.” They watched as he pulled a map from under the desk and spread it out for them.

 

Scully watched as Mulder leaned over the map and decisively pointed a ways away from their final location on the map, “I believe it is around here.”

 

The man frowned. “Well George...by the way, I am sorry, my name is Joe,” Joe said as he offered his hand to Mulder, who shook it, “most of the roads around here are closed this time of year. As you folks saw, we still have a good two feet of snow on the ground, and it could snow again at any time. I don’t think you would make it too far in what you pulled up in. However, if you are interested, I gotta guy who can rent you all a couple of snowmobiles. That’s the best way to get around here. Not that there aren’t any brave souls who snowshoe or ski their way into the mountains from here, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

 

Mulder looked at her and then Byers and Missy, “What does everyone think?”

 

Byers nodded and Missy spoke up with a saccharine smile, “We would really appreciate that, Joe. How soon could you get us set up with the rentals? We were really hoping to get out there as soon as possible tomorrow and make the most of our day.”

 

As Scully had expected, Missy had clearly charmed this man earlier, and he beamed at her with a large smile beneath a thick mustache.

 

“Well, miss, I would be happy to put that call in for you folks tonight. The owner is a friend of mine, and he owes me a favor. I bet we can getcha set up first thing tomorrow morning?” Joe replied.

 

Missy reached over to the counter and put her hands over his and looked into his eyes, “That would be so kind of you, Joe. We truly appreciate it,” Missy lifted her hands, “Now, where can we get some good food after we get settled? We are all starving.”

 

\--

8:23 PM

 

Scully watched as her sister went to the door for the single room, with Byers, as they ran from the van to the motel to escape the quickly dropping temperatures.

 

“What are you doing?” Scully said as Mulder came up behind her.

 

Missy cocked her head at Byers, “John and I talked when we got here. We are fine in this room. We wanted to give you two a chance to just rest and catch up.”

 

Byers nodded, “I have to call Langley and Frohike and check-in with them. Make sure calls will patch through correctly while we are up here. Your sister said she would help me check over our equipment. I have slept plenty today anyway...”

 

“And I am fine to stay up too,” Missy piped in, “You two just go. The last few days have been intense. I am not negotiating this, Dana.”

 

Scully was ready to open her mouth, but Missy stood firmly with the same look they both got from their mother, than meant there would be no room for debate. She felt a hand on her elbow and heard the door next to her unlock.

 

“Come on, Scully,” Mulder said as he guided her into the room, “Goodnight, Missy. Byers.”

 

He shut the door behind them, and she stared at him.

 

“Mulder,” she sighed in exasperation.

 

“Scully,” he parroted. “What? Am I that bad of a roommate?”

 

She looked up at him and then fell into his chest. “No,” she murmured as she felt his arms wrap around her. This was what she missed so much when they were apart. This feeling of safety when she was in his arms. She felt them over to the edge of the firm, low motel bed and pull both of them down onto the mattress with a thud.

 

Raising her chin, Scully looked up at Mulder through pieces of hair that had escaped the french braid her sister had put in earlier that day. He brushed them out of her face and with a deep, low voice, “You look beautiful, Scully.”

 

She felt herself blush and the heat between the two of them intensify, but she knew she just didn’t feel ready to reenter this territory with Mulder. Especially given the circumstances. 

 

“You look silly,” she said as she rolled off of him, but not before she saw the disappointment quickly cross over his face. “It’s that beard on this Mulder’s face.”

 

“This beard,” he said as he rolled back into her and nuzzled her neck.

 

“Mulder, stop,” Scully said as she playfully pushed him away before turning serious, “I am not ready for us to go there yet. We still should talk. We can’t just play everything off like it never happened because of where we are or when we are. I need to know that you are okay. That I am okay. That we are okay.”

 

“I know, Scully, and I want you to know that I feel okay,” he said as he looked at her deeply. She knew he was telling the truth.

 

She leaned up on her elbow again and staring back at him, “Mulder, I know when I left, I hurt you, but I just couldn’t… I am sorry, and I just can’t do this with you, not yet.”

 

“I understand, Scully, and honestly, I am the one that should be sorry. I told you that I would stop allowing myself to descend into darkness, to stop dragging the both of us down. I broke that promise,” his tone was rich and earnest, and to her relief, she could not filled with sadness. He sounded accepting.

 

Scully looked down and attempted to cover his large hands with her petite ones. “But it’s not like that is something you could have helped, Mulder. Depression is a serious thing. It wasn’t a choice.”

 

“Yes, but Scully, it was a choice to not do things that could have helped the situation. That could have helped me. Helped us. There were still a lot of choices that I have made over the years that were not in anyone’s best interest,” Mulder said as he rubbed his thumb across her hands, looking up at her. Then he grinned, “Besides, I should have known better by then. You are always right. I should have followed doctor’s orders.”

 

“Are you trying to sweet talk me again, Mulder?” She cracked at him with a smile before turning serious. While she did want to give their relationship another chance, she just wanted to be careful given the situation. There were too many variables in play, and Scully wanted to make sure they were both on  the same page. She lied back down next to Mulder, hoping to convey the same serious in both her tone and her eyes as she stared into his. 

 

“I am not going to change my mind that quickly. We need to take things slowly. We don’t know what we are up against yet, and what if this,” she gestured between them, “is permanent? What if it is not? I just don’t want to get us into any predicaments.”

 

She watched a plethora of emotions move across Mulder’s face, as he sighed and rolled onto his back, “I know, and if it means it’s going to take another seven years or twenty years or one hundred years to get there, Scully, you know I will wait. I don’t ever want to lose you again, because then I am just lost too.”

 

His last comment warmed her heart, and she snuggled herself in close to him as he deftly moved his arms around her. She kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear, “Thank you, Mulder.”

 

They rested there, a sleepy tangle, on the creaky, motel bed in silence for a few quiet moments. The smell of must hung in the air and metal heater against the front window rattled as it fought against the cool draft piercing the old doors and windows. In those moments, Scully could tell Mulder’s thoughts had shifted elsewhere. If all of their years together had taught her anything, it was how to read the silence of the other. Clearly, Mulder was trying to work something out in his head.

 

“What is it?” Scully prodded.

 

“Mmmmmmh?” Mulder mumbled in a noise that Scully presumed to be a,  _ What? _

 

“You are trying to figure something out in that head of yours, Mulder. What is it?” She pressed.

 

She watched as he paused and rubbed at his scruffy, partial beard with his hand that was not wrapped beneath her. He was clearly choosing his words, which made her even more curious.

 

“Your sister told me something today. Something...interesting, and that I guess knew...but didn’t know?” Mulder replied in a tone that she seemed uncertain to her.

 

His words, demeanor, and uncertainty caught her further off guard, and Scully felt herself frown. “What did she tell you?”

Instead of answering her questions, he deflected with his own, “What happened after your family moved to Maryland when you were a teen, Scully?”

 

Scully felt herself freeze, her pulse quicken, and the hairs on the back her neck stand. Suddenly an onslaught of deeply buried and unpleasant memories were trying to swim free from their tethers in the deep recesses of her mind. While there were many memories from her teen years that she cherished and remembered with great fondness, these memories were some she preferred not to face in their entirety.

 

Quickly she pulled herself up again, “Why does it matter, Mulder?”

 

“What happened?” He pressed her again, which only turned the chill she had felt into a simmer.

 

“It was a turbulent time. I was a teenage girl with a lot of pressures at home and school who had just moved to across the country to a community where some terrible things had happened. Anything that Missy has told you is probably been grossly misinterpreted,” she insisted.

 

“Are we really going to play this game, Scully?”

 

She knew what he was talking about, but she didn’t want to talk about it. Scully felt let out a breath as she defeatedly sank back onto the bed to stare at the ceiling, “Mulder, I don’t know what Missy all told you about that time. However, I do know that I have seen, felt, and experienced things in the time you and have been together, that may have been similar the the experiences I had then, and you wrote them off. So, if a man, who would believe almost anything, didn’t believe that I saw and spoke to the dead or angels or demons or whatever it was that I saw or thought I saw, then why should I believe them either? Why would I not question myself and the memories of those visions, and why does it matter now? I don’t see how any of this pertains to the situation we currently find ourselves in. We have enough to deal with already, there is no need to dig up the trials of my adolescence.”

 

Scully wasn’t sure if any of what she said made any sense to Mulder, since she barely explained what had happened to her as a teen, and she did not know what Missy had all told them. She also realized that some of what she had said was a low blow, but it was true. There had been multiple times where she had seen and experienced things that Mulder was quick to write off, much like her father and others had been when she had brought up what she saw after a series of murders had happened in the town to which they had moved. However, she had expected those responses from her father and the like, but not Fox Mulder. Therefore, she had spent much of her adulthood, just as she had spent much her teens: making excuses, and attempting to ignore or reason away the visions and dreams she had. When she really thought about it, it was why she had probably been so adamant on not always believing the things they had witnessed in their work. While she had always been logical in nature, she had built up a habit of trying ignore the fantastic, even when it looked her in the face, because it just always seemed to be accompanied by painful memories.

 

She didn’t know how long the silence had stretched between them when she heard Mulder speak again.

 

“I know,” he said quietly, “I know, that I have dismissive of many things you experienced in the past, Scully, but maybe what has happened to us and this ability are linked.”

 

It felt like her head and chest were swimming in a sea of emotion and confusion. Could Mulder be right? Had she somehow caused this? Her immediate reaction was to fight him on his comment. To shout, “NO!” To pick a fight. Instead she just sighed. She was mentally and physically exhausted. The long day had finally caught up to her, and she was still getting used to the fact that she was almost occupying another person’s brain and body. It was still disorienting at times, and she didn’t understand how Mulder seemed to be coping with it so well.

 

“Mulder, I don’t know, but I do know that I am depleted of any more energy to put into thinking about any of this. I promise I will tell you what happened tomorrow, but as for whatever we are experiencing right now, please, let’s just wait until we get to where we need to be tomorrow. If we don’t find our answers there, then you can pick apart my brain,” she said in defeat.

 

She felt Mulder roll back into her and gently twist her face so that she was looking back at him. As he done so many times in their future together, he planted a kiss on her forehead and simply said, “Okay.”

 

Before she knew it Scully let sleep capture her in Mulder’s arms. That night, she dreamt that she had left her body to ascend into heavens, where she felt herself move through time and space back to the bridge and time they had left behind. There she saw her older self desperately trying to help Mulder, but then behind her appeared an angel, an angel she knew from another time and place to be the devil. He was reaching out for Mulder, and she knew he was trying to take him away from her. Before she could shout out a warning to herself to turn around and stop him, another being appeared on the bridge, and in a flash of light, they all disappeared.

\--


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

Ottawa National Forest

Upper Peninsula, Michigan

March 15, 1992

8:34 AM

 

In Mulder’s eyes, the morning had gone two ways: both good and bad. The good was that, as Joe the hotel manager promised, there were snowmobiles ready and waiting for them first thing that morning. Joe had mapped out the best trail routes into the forest and around the Porkies. Mulder knew they would have to backtrack, probably hiking the rest of the way to their destination, given the terrain as they got closer to Lake Superior.

 

Byers proudly showed off his self-made GPS, in which the coordinates for the location they sought had been input. Mulder and Scully humored him as he explained how GPS worked, once again, while Missy had actually listened in awe and interest asking him various questions about the device. It was clear Byers was tickled by her attention, even more so without the beard to hide behind.

 

Now Byers was straddled behind Mulder to help navigate. Which Mulder saw as part of the bad. However, Scully was the only other person who knew how to drive a snowmobile, a skill picked up during rough winters at their place in Virginia, and Missy had seemed keen on riding with her sister. 

 

Though, Mulder knew what was really eating at him was what felt like another complete shutdown of Scully since the night before. She had promised that they would talk about her experience as a teen, but when they woke to get ready, he could tell she had completely retreated into her own head. By the time she had emerged, they were ready to get on the road, and Scully was in business mode. 

 

Now that they were on the move, the thrum of the snowmobile’s engine as they shot through snow covered pines and barren hardwoods, had drawn him into his own head. Mulder realized that he was also feeling hurt. Hurt that Scully had never shared with him something that was so clearly personal, even after all of the years and intimacy between them. Had she chosen just to forget about it? Scully was remarkable at the art of repression, that was for certain, but he still had the feeling that whatever had happened, it had probably impacted her life in a large way. Whether she had repressed it or not. Mulder wondered if Missy had not been killed in the timeline from which they came, would have he had learned about it earlier in their partnership. Clearly the elder Scully sister had not repressed those events...whatever they were.

 

Mulder was pulled out of his self-induced hypnosis by a literal knocking on his helmet. He slowed, stopped and killed the engine. He pulled up the visor of the helmet and squinted against the harsh morning light reflecting off the snow. The snowmobile behind them stopped, and he heard Scully’s voice shout, “Is this where we need to stop?”

 

Mulder watched as Byers looked down at his GPS receiver and also the map given to them by Joe the motel manager before they left.

 

“Yeah,” he shouted back at her before turning to nod at Mulder, “I think we are going to need to find a place to hide these, and then hike our way in. Based on my calculations about how fast we can hike through this snow and the location of the coordinates, it will take use a couple hours.”

 

Mulder felt himself grimace. He had too many bad experiences trekking around in cold snow, in the middle of nowhere. Hopefully, this experience went smoother than some of those.

 

“Sounds like a plan, Byers. You lead the way,” he said.

\--

10:19 AM

 

It had taken them about thirty minutes to find a good cover for the snowmobiles and get situated with packs and snowshoes before they began their hike toward the lake. Mulder was surprised at how rough the terrain became, but luckily the conversation between the group, including Scully, made the wintry hike palatable. Missy and Byers asked them a barrage of questions about their cases together and were trying to formulate theories as to what had caused their consciousness to time jump. Unsurprisingly, Missy’s theories were very spiritual and metaphysical, while Byers’ were tied to rogue technology and conspiracy theories. Mulder imagined that what actually happened lie somewhere in between.

 

After about another hour of hiking, Mulder felt a tug on his sleeve. Scully was holding the binoculars up for him to look through.

 

“Byers, how far off are we from the location?” He heard her say as he looked to see what appeared to be a dated trailer perched in overgrown brush, a few hundred yards away.

 

“We can’t be far now. Why?” Byers replied, and Mulder handed him the binoculars.

 

Mulder looked down at Scully, “You think that might be it?”

 

“A creepy trailer in the middle of nowhere?” She snorted as she looked up at him, “Given our track record for finding what we are looking for in creepy trailers in the boonies, I would say, yes. Unfortunately, yes. But I call dibs on not going in first.”

 

He couldn’t help but grin back at the grin she was giving him, before he looked over to Byers again, “Byers?”

 

Missy and Byers were both behind them looking over the map and GPS receiver.

 

“I think so given our current coordinates, and what I believe to be where we are when I check back on the map,” he confirmed.

 

“Are you guys ready?” Missy asked looking between her and Mulder.

 

Mulder looked down at Scully again and shrugged. “I guess it’s now or never, Scully.”

 

“I guess,” she replied. He could still see the trace of a smile on her face, but behind it was clearly trepidation.

 

“We got this,” he assured her and gave her arm a squeeze.

 

When Mulder looked up he saw Missy and Byers frozen in place, a look of what he read to be a mix of fear and panic on their faces. For a moment, Mulder thought perhaps they had finally run into a bear or other large predator, but as he turned with Scully to see what they were looking at, what they were instead met with was a human. A woman with dark skin and hair, trying to mask her own look of fear and panic with one of challenging grit, as she stared at them down the barrel of a shotgun.

 

He saw Scully’s hands go up in his periphery as he put up his own. Silence between them seemed to stretch on forever as the woman looked them over. When the woman spoke her voice wavered briefly before it found its strength.

 

“What year is it?” She demanded as Mulder watched her finger curl around the trigger.

\--


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

 

Ottawa National Forest

Upper Peninsula, Michigan

March 15, 1992

10:24 AM

 

Hot, panicked breaths danced as vaporous clouds in the crisp, northern air. Scully tried to run through in her head what they should do next. She and Mulder were both armed, but surely the draw of either of their guns would set this woman off. Someone would surely get shot.

 

 _What year is it?_ _What does she mean by that?_ Scully thought as she stared into the woman’s deep amber eyes trying to get a better read on her. Her eyes were both feral with fright and empowerment all at once. 

 

“WHAT YEAR IS IT?!” The woman now shouted, lunging forward with the rifle and settling the stock further into her shoulder.

 

Scully side-glanced at Mulder who suddenly spoke up, “2016. The year is 2016.”

 

As Scully snapped her eyes back and watched as the woman’s face seemed to relax momentarily. Then the woman swallowed and without lowering the rifle asked, “Who is William?”

 

Scully knew her heart was beating at rapid pace, but with the mention of the name William it’s thumping now flooded her ears. It was so loud that she barely heard herself say, “He was our son.”

 

This time the woman nodded, bit her lip, but still did not lower her rifle. With either a glare or eyes squinting against the reflected sun on the dazzling snow, she pressed them again with great insistence, “Are you Fox Mulder and Dana Scully?”

 

Scully felt herself nod and heard Mulder mumble a “yes” next to her.

 

Still the rifle didn’t lower, and the woman continued, calm yet demanding, “If you are the Mulder and Scully from 2016, then you can tell me who Invisigoth is. Who is Invisigoth?”

 

Now Scully felt the mask of puzzlement slide over her face like the visor of her snowmobile helmet. She was sure 2016 was the answer to the woman’s first question as well, and the other two were no-brainers, but this was a question she did not expect. The name sounded familiar, but she could not quite place it. It felt entirely out of context for the situation.

 

Luckily Mulder spoke.  However, he sounded equally confused. “Esther Nairn. She was a hacker and a programmer. She died trying to upload her consciousness into an AI.”

 

It was upon hearing the name “Esther” that Scully remembered the case. She didn’t even steal a side glance at Mulder, but kept her eyes trained on the woman to see her response. It appeared that most of the remaining tension had drained from her face and was replaced by a glimmer of what Scully perceived to be satisfaction. Either way, the woman lowered her rifle. Scully heard Missy and Byers both let out dramatic sighs of relief.

 

The woman studied them all carefully for a beat before saying, “Okay, follow me.”

 

With that the woman turned on a casual heel, slung the rifle over her shoulder, and started back to the trailer.

 

\--

 

They all had followed the mystery woman back in silence to the trailer. As Scully looked around, everyone’s face swum with a fury of emotions, but this is what they came for: answers. Hopefully, this was the person that had them.

 

The woman held a rusted, metal screen door open for them, and they all looked around to see if anyone else was around before the entered the very outdated, and equally, rusted trailer.  As Scully stepped in, she was surprised to see that, while not a shining example of modern luxury, the trailer was meticulous and well-kept. Though it had been clear, by the amount of dust dancing in the streams of winter light shining through partially close blinds, that nobody had occupied the trailer for quite some time. Save for whatever it seemed their host had brought with them or used recently, it was as if they stepped into an adult-sized time capsule. A silent motion was made for all of them to sit at a mustard laminate table trimmed with oxidized chrome which hugged one side of the trailer and was flanked by stiff, vinyl bench seats. It was covered in small neat stacks of folders and data tapes, a tape recorder, and a small, spiral notepad.

 

As she and Mulder and Missy and Byers slid onto opposite sides, the woman grabbed a stool and pulled it up to the end of the table. Scully got a better look at her for the first time. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, with smooth skin that was so dark, that it almost appeared blue in the dim light. Black, curly hair was neatly braided in two, perfect rows, away from a face with high, prominent cheekbones, almond eyes, and full lips which encased alabaster teeth. Scully imagined that, given another set of circumstances, she would have a face that people would consider to be naturally warm and kind; however, that was clearly not the case anymore. 

 

The woman spread long, spindly fingers on the tabletop, chapped and ashen at the knuckles from the bitter, dry air. As all everyone’s gaze settled directly on her, she quietly cleared her throat and began, “My name is Erica Hamill. I am the one that brought you back here.” She motioned around the room, but the deeper meaning was understood by all.

 

It was Missy that vocalized the question Scully imagined everyone was thinking. “How?”

 

Erica looked between Missy and Byers. She didn’t answer Missy’s question, instead she asked her own, “You are Melissa Scully and John Byers, correct?” 

 

But the question was rhetorical, and Scully watched as Erica’s attention moved to her and Mulder, “Is it okay that they hear all this? You trust them? Can I trust them?”

 

Mulder, once again, found his voice before Scully could find hers, but it falter and croaked before finding its ground, “Yes. Please. Whatever you have to share with us, you can share with them. They are here to help us. How did you get us here, Ms. Hamill?”

 

“Doctor, but please, call me Erica.” She corrected before continuing with a deep sigh, “I want to apologize for my behavior earlier. I needed to be certain it was you. My wife and I agreed on how we would handle this situation, if it came to this. She was just the one who actually knew how to use that thing.”

 

An uncomfortable chuckle escaped Erica, as she nodded her head back at the rifle. A clear wash of sadness moved over the woman’s face, and she grew silent, looking down to pick uncomfortably at the edges of elongated, oval nail beds. 

 

Moments before that Scully had caught Missy give her a questioning look at the mention of a woman mentioning her “wife.” Scully dismissed the look with her own and a slight shake of her head. They could talk the nuances of twenty-first century, social politics and personal freedoms another time. It was Scully’s turn to keep the conversation moving and make sure they got the answers they were looking for. 

 

“Erica, what is this situation? Who is your wife?” Scully prodded gently to break the other woman out of her melancholy reverie.

 

Erica looked up at her and then the rest of the table, bit her lip, and dove in, “My wife, Ingrid, was Esther Nairn’s half-sister. We met on joint, top-secret projects manned by what we thought, or I thought, were legitimate government and military agencies, but what I now know to be whatever form of the syndicate group you both worked to bring down, still existed. These projects were essentially pet projects and bootcamps to find the talent they needed to be certain they would survive alien colonization if their vaccination program was a failure.”

 

Scully looked over at Mulder to get a read on his reactions during Erica’s brief pause. He looked like an eager child on Christmas Day, before and after they learned Santa wasn’t real. The pause was short-lived and Erica continued, “I was working in neurological research on what I, initially, thought was an experiment to help remove, alter, and transfer memories of vets who were suffering from extreme forms of post traumatic stress syndrome. Ingrid had been working on several theoretical and quantum physics projects, that I honestly never fully understood, when we were recruited to their project.

 

“I was uneasy about joining, but I wanted to protect myself and my family, and be with Ingrid, who had already agreed to join the project. By that point, Ingrid had told me about her sister, and all the information she had received from her sister.”

 

Scully felt confusion wash over her as Erica brought up Esther again. Esther had been dead for years, as far as she knew. 

 

“I am sorry, Erica, but what do you mean by ‘information she had received from her sister.’ Esther died. Agent Mulder and I were there when it happened.”

 

Erica looked at her, “Physically, yes. Psychologically, no. Ingrid had contact with her sister through…” 

 

Scully watched as Erica tried to find the words she needed. However, it was Byers that offered something up.

 

“The net?” He said.

 

Erica grinned and shook her head, “Sure. It’s the 90’s, right?”

 

Scully couldn’t help but grin herself as Byers brow furrowed.

 

“So Esther was successful in her end goal. To upload her conscious artificially?” Mulder asked.

 

“Yes, as far as I know,” Erica offered, “Esther started to leak information to her sister about everything that these men we were working for were doing, had done. We wanted to take that information and expose them and find a way to develop the vaccine on a larger scale to save everyone. The problem, however, was time. We needed to hold off and see if we could utilize their resources so Ingrid could finish the work she had started on time travel and myself with memory transference, to go back, just long enough, with our memories intact and the right people to pull the plug.

 

“Unfortunately, we just were not able to work quickly enough, to comfortably get it done right. To transfer just our memories without the conduit of another person to transfer them and some sort of alien disturbance that allowed for us to alter space and time. They found out about our plans to expose them though. They killed Ingrid, and they would have killed me to, if I had not made it to our back up.”

 

“Us.” Scully heard herself whisper.

 

Erica nodded solemnly with tears in her eyes, and Missy covered her hands sympathetically with her own. “We knew that we would be able to get you to change the course. To set things straight. Believe us. Help us. That you would want to right the wrongs that had been inflicted upon the people you loved too.”

 

“I am sorry about your wife,” Scully heard her sister say with deep compassion, “but we will try to help you anyway we can.”

 

“So this isn’t you from this time?” Byers asked for them all.

 

“No,” Erica replied with a gentle snort as she crossed her arms over her chest after wiping a few leftover tears from her face. “Somewhere in southern California, there is gangly, ten year old, with the same face, that goes by the same name, probably wearing a pair of Zubaz.”

 

Scully felt her eyebrow raise as more questions flooded her mind, but Mulder beat her to the punch with her first.

 

“Then what does that mean for you?” He asked leaning forward onto the table.

 

Erica wiggled her closed mouth back and forth, with a look that suggested she was trying to work out how to best divulge what she had to share. She scratched her head and mirrored Mulder, by leaning back onto the the table, “Well, I don’t plan on killing my grandfather.” 

 

She smirked and then continued, “But to be honest, this whole time travel business was Ingrid’s wheelhouse. She just taught me enough about how to go back. Whenever  _ they _ come, a new connection between two points in time is created. A wormhole, but with which you can only go backwards. Ingrid’s role in the projects was to find a way to get select groups of people through that wormhole in a manner that was controlled. There were documented circumstances of time bending back on itself, taking people back with it, but it was random, never really controlled. And often the results could be erratic and devastating if the circumstance were right: switching of consciousness between individuals; bodies or parts of bodies stuck in random objects; incomplete transfer of a body… It was a hot mess until the late 90s and early 2000s when they could at least get an accurate prediction of when and where they would be that would create the correct kind of space time disturbance, but there was still no direct control over whom or what was being transferred and to when. ” 

 

Erica paused and Scully watched her scan the faces around her. It was clear that they all were in some state of confusion or at least trying to hash out what had just been divulged, and it was clear Erica understood that as well when she apologized, after a beat, for sounding convoluted. 

 

Mulder grabbed at his face before releasing the considered questions he had clearly been holding, “So your wife obviously found a way to control the whom or what, but not the when, I am guessing? This is a little more than a few years back for us.” 

 

Erica clasped her hands between her legs and leaned in with an apologetic look, “Like I said, this was Ingrid’s wheelhouse. She might have done a better job of getting us all to the right place in time. I did the best I could with the information I had. My forte is in isolation, extraction, and transfer of neurological information, which is what the two of your are experiencing. I just knew I could successfully transfer the totality of your conscious if I was at least able to make it from point A to point B. It was clear to me that both of you were great candidates for extraction and transference after reading Esther’s hacked reports on their experiments with you, Agent Mulder, during your neurological event during the early 2000s and with you, Agent Scully, during the Craiger Initiative in the late 70s.”

 

Scully felt like the bench of the booth had given beneath her with how quickly her stomach dropped and how hard Missy’s hand had suddenly clamped onto her own from across the table, as if to keep her from falling to the floor. She opened her mouth to try and speak, but no words came out of lips that opened and closed like a fish out of water. Craiger had been the name of the town in Maryland that they moved to in 1978. The town where in the spring of 1979, the horrible things Mulder had pressed her about last night had happened. Was she to understand that it all had been part of some experiment? 

 

As if reading her mind Missy spoke for her with urgency, “What experiments in the late 70s, Erica?”

 

“Um…I mean these data tapes contain files about the experiments. I brought as much as I thought would be useful to us with me. I can show you.” Erica stammered at Missy before turning to face Scully, her face filled with grave concern, “You didn’t know about the experiments? Your father signed off on the initiation and termination for your involvement in the project, Agent Scully. I thought maybe you…” 

 

All eyes were on her, and Scully felt the room spin and shake at Erica’s words and mention of her father. Before she could think rationally and interpret the looks on everyone’s faces, she felt her body rise from the booth and move out the door of their dark enclave into the glaring light of a late winter’s day like a ghost.

\--


End file.
